The Baby And The Brandy (Ben Bracken 1) (24 page)

Nigel almost slips into a trance of panic. He will get over this moment eventually, but for now it is necessary. It’s never nice being faced with your immediate mortality, your very being entrusted to a pendulum of undecided fate. I feel for him, in a way. Either way, for him, it’ll be over soon, and will just be another story to tell down the boozer.

‘Did you kill him?’ I ask, firmly.

‘No. No. A thousand times no. I swear. I swear on anything you’d ask me to swear on.’ A tear rolls down his fat cheek and suicide-dives onto his lapel. ‘Please...’

I lower my outstretched arm and release my fist.

‘I believe you. Thank you, Nigel.’

Nigel, coughs in shock and gags relief, rattling snottily.

‘You are safe now,’ I say.

Nigel composes himself. He looks at me, with thanks and confusion. I think he rightly doubts if there was a sniper out there at all, as he looks out at the rooftops.

‘I’ve been lied to a lot in recent times,’ I say. ‘It’s only under extreme pressure that you see truth sometimes. And today, I really needed to see it.’

‘Are you with them?’ he asks.

‘Who?’ I reply.

‘His gang, or whatever the hell they are called. The Berg?’

‘No. I am not.’

‘Thank God. He didn’t trust them, is all. He told me, pissed up one night, that he wanted to run away more than ever. That when he told them he wanted out, they didn’t take it well. “They take rejection messily”, he said. I think he feared for his life.’

And my jaw hits the floor, the bottom drops out of my world, and everything I had come to bank on in the last three days falls to pieces.

22

My head is still spinning as I get back to the car, parked in an NCP a short walk from Piccadilly. I take a minute in the cool, echoing vacuum of the multi-story structure, to compose myself. I lean against the car, and think hard.

Is this right? The planets are aligning, and they are all pointing directly at an inside job. Was Royston Brooker killed by his very friends, the men he trusted? It seems the strongest possibility now, and I need to let Jeremiah know what I have uncovered, as promised.

Zoe’s importance is growing. I need to speak with her, urgently. If this indeed was an inside job, she must know something. She has to. I must find her.

Jack will know where to find her. But where is he? I take out my phone, and try him at home and on his mobile. No answer on either. My concern for him is ramping. What is happening here?

My anger is increasing, and I feel played. Done like a kipper. I’m livid, and I think of what a fucking jackass I’ve been, playing the role of doting, naive, idealist to perfection. I have been seduced by their lifestyle, their warmness, and their kindness to me personally and looked too quickly over the very nature of what it is they do, and how one must conduct oneself in order to get there, never mind thrive on arrival. Another charming, older, father figure has done me asunder. Story of my pathetic life.

The devil is brooding inside me again, and I feel long, burning fingers of rage ripping deep. My darkness is returning. I’m feverish with hate, and anger, and it is all too reminiscent of an earlier me. The rage will come out. But not yet. I need to be certain. I need to be sure. But if it’s right, I will tear this fucking city apart to bring them the roughest justice I can deliver.

Manchester is not their playground anymore. I get in the car.

*

I drive erratically without intention. My guts are twisted like a badly-arranged balloon animal. I need this moment of spinning hatred, because when it passes, focus will replace it. I need to reach that point of composure before I speak to Zoe.

I arrive at the neighborhood Zoe lives in, drawn from the memory of my first meeting with her at Jack’s home. I haven’t a clue which is hers, and I’m on an estate with sixteen houses arranged along one road which snakes between them all, each one with a pleasant view over green pastures, the golf course and Manchester, looming in the distance. Again, it’s a very nice spot, but not so deluxe as to generate questions.

I cruise the Lexus along slowly, looking for any signs that would give away a double life. It’s not as easy as I pictured. Middle-upper class suburbia must be a veritable petri-dish of double lives, a landscape of distrust and competition. That’s a pretty cynical thought, but I am suddenly feeling very much in that frame of mind. It’ll have to be something pretty obvious to stick out.

And, suddenly, it sure is. By the front door of number 12, are two bright red wellington boots, drying in the morning sun, presumably after a pleasant stroll along the fields opposite. I park up and hurry up the driveway, along a dark blue Mini Cooper that is parked there. It’s a high end model of the car, again fitting the brief of nice, but not too nice. Like all these fuckers. ‘Nice but not too nice’ seems to be their life motto. With every step closer to the boots, I become more and more certain that they are indeed Zoe’s.

The house appears quiet, so I ring the bell. It chimes merrily somewhere deep in the house, the first few bars of ‘Oh What A Beautiful Morning’. It’s about the twee-est thing I’ve ever heard.

I wait. Manchester watches me over my shoulder.

I hear swift feet thumping softly downstairs, and the door is unchained. It swings open, and there is Zoe. Her bob is a little unkempt, her clothes very ‘dress-down weekends’, but she still carries herself with poise. Her blue eyes sharpen on me as she sees the identity of her visitor.

‘Ben...’ she says. Her jaw is set defiantly, and she doesn’t look all that surprised to see me.

‘Zoe, may I come in?’ I ask. I have no interest in physically harming her, but I have every intention of taking her down with the rest of them. I’m very worried that my element of surprise has been blown. That was an advantage I was carrying, but not anymore. Let’s play nice to begin with.

‘He’s not here,’ she says, still standing firm.

‘Whoever it is you think I’m here to see, I’ve found who I was looking for.’

Zoe looks unsure at me. I’m guessing she means Jack. When I first surmised there was a spark of feeling between them, I am being proved ever more correct. It’s complicating things.

‘What is it you want?’ she asks.

‘I think you may have an idea. I think he might have told you.’

‘Who?’

‘Jack. Your other half. Are you sure he is not here?’

The door swings open even wider, as if by it’s own volition. As it opens, it reveals Jack Brooker, standing there, eyes just as fixed as Zoe’s.

‘It’s OK, Zoe, I’ve got this,’ he says, as he widens the door to allow me inside.

His being here is far from ideal. If he is acting as her protector, and I’m not careful, this could get very ugly.

‘Go in the living room. Ben sit on the sofa in the window,’ says Zoe with authority. I don’t argue, although their ordering of my position signifies their desire for the positional upper hand. I have my gun with me, and I assume Jack has his. I don’t want that. I really don’t want that.

I enter the living room, which has cream carpets and creams sofas, a stone fireplace and not much else. It looks like this is the first time the room has ever been entered. A sitting room for best? Even quainter than the doorbell chime. Zoe has a neat little life over here. I find my allocated sofa, and sit. Zoe sits on the sofa opposite me, and Jack man’s the door.

‘Your interests have always been my top priority here Jack,’ I begin, but he almost snorts at that.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ he replies dismissively.

‘It’s true,’ I say, ‘I have been consumed and dedicated in finding your dad’s killer. I’ve been able to scratch off a couple of suspects already today, and there is no question that we are narrowing it down. It’s a good job you have the door covered, Jack, because I don’t think you will like what I have to say.’

Jack’s face stills like granite.

‘What are you saying?’ he asks with a low rumble. Of all the shocks and hurt he has been through, I don’t want to even suggest more to him, but if he is going to be present while I get what I need from Zoe, I need him to be on my side, or at the very least no side at all. I can’t have him protecting Zoe.

‘This won’t be easy for you, but I think your girlfriend has some explaining to do. I need you to stay cool here Jack, but it’s all pointing to an in-house job. It looks like the Berg did it themselves.’

Jack looks at Zoe, his jaw hanging limp, and Zoe flushes crimson. Gotcha.

‘No, listen -’ Zoe blurts, but Jack cuts her off.

‘Zoe. What does he mean?’ Jack heaves.

‘Keep cool, Jack, we’ll get to the bottom of this,’ I say, knowing that it will be no use. I’ve seen Jack in a rage. It was his fury that started this whole thing.

‘I didn’t know!’ Zoe shouts, tears beginning to froth. Her stoic exoskeleton disintegrating. ‘This is why I wanted to leave with you...’

‘You wanted to leave with me?! So that you could bury your Grandad’s dirty little secret?!’ Jack explodes. He paces back in forth as if in a tiny imaginary box, unsure what to do with himself but needing to do something. This looks to be one sting too much for him.

I stand up and grab Jack by the shoulders and stick him on the sofa I was sitting on. He offers no resistance, his brain occupied with other hurdles. I stand between them in the middle of the room, like referee and mediator - an extreme circumstances relationship counsellor.

‘Zoe, you need to talk,’ I say, and point a finger at the young woman to make sure my point really hammers home. She wasn’t wearing much makeup before, but her mascara looks to have tripled and slipped down her cheeks messily.

‘I need to get out of here,’ says Jack, opposite, his head in his hands. If he were to leave, who knows what carnage he would get up to.

‘No. Jack, you need to stay and hear this. You have been fighting and searching for answers this entire time. You are this close to hearing something that might hold a thread of truth. You need to see this one through.’

Jack takes a second, and his gaze cuts Zoe in half. I turn back to her.

‘Zoe. I’ll tell you what I have, then there’ll be your chance to respond. If you help me it will look favorably on you in future, I’ll make sure of that.’

She nods, and wipes her cheek.

‘I will try,’ she says, ‘But I don’t know anything for sure.’ She seems so genuine. I hope she is.

‘I know what the authorities found at the crime scene and what they make of it. So much of the lower level police is bought off, so I had to reach higher for the info, all the way to the NCA. They found your father, Jack, still in his pajamas, tied to a chair with a single gunshot wound to the chest. The evidence points to a lack of struggle, and that he was tied up after he was killed. He put up no resistance, indicating he was either expecting what was happening to him, he had resigned himself to his fate... or, and in my opinion most likely, he had known his killer well and didn’t see it coming. And then there are the names we had in the frame. Sparkles Chu and Mystery Nigel. I caught Sparkles Chu, and had a good chat with him while his boat was falling to pieces around us. He swears he didn’t do it. Says he is not that kind of person and they are not that kind of people. He is out of the country now, his business destroyed. I met Nigel this morning - Jack, this is of considerable interest to yourself so listen up - and he spoke to Royston the night of his death. He swears he didn’t kill him either - moreover, that he and Royston were planing on getting out of Manchester and opening a pub down in Exeter.’

I turn to Jack.

‘Your father wanted out, Jack. He wanted you to go with him. Nigel was going to start a legitimate business with your father, and had fronted his life savings for the deal. Your Dad told the Berg, and the Berg didn’t like it. Nigel said your Dad was fearing for his life, which caused him to pull out of the deal sometime before his death. Nigel lost everything, and that’s why he was pissed off with your Dad. He left him high and dry.’

Jack eyes look like a newborn’s, as if everything he has ever known was stripped away from him and he is experiencing things for the very first time.

‘You said they tried to recruit you, Jack. I don’t think your dad liked it at all. He wanted a new life for both of you. But when you wouldn’t be recruited, I think they tried to force your hand. I think they tried to breed loyalty in you by helping you find your Dad’s killer. They gave you a name alright. It was the name of their direct competition. They wanted the River wiped out, and they knew you would make a damn good fist of doing it.’

Jack’s jaw slackens again, and his eyes murk bloodshot.

‘They decided to get rid of one employee, in a direct upgrade, for a younger, hungrier, meaner model - all thanks to a backstabbing plot to get you in their pocket, doing their dirty work for them.’

I can see that this is hitting Jack hard, and even he is too blown away by this to get angry. He’s showing all the classic signs of post traumatic stress, like a mortar bomb has just gone off next to him. Zoe, giving credence to her assertions that she was in the dark on the whole thing, looks about the same.

‘I’m nearly there Zoe, it’ll be your turn in a minute. I believe they saw this as a great opportunity to take out the River, who were killing them on the arms front and growing in stature day by day,’ I take out my handgun, to a gasp from Zoe. ‘Don’t worry, I’m just showing you something. This is a Glock 17. But it’s not an authentic Glock. It’s too lightweight. This is the gun I lifted from the guy that Chu sent to the Premier Inn. It’s made of plastic parts.’

I can see this is not resonating with my listeners immediately, so I put the gun away and try to make things a little simpler.

‘Jack, you know when we burst into the back room, at Chu’s place, there was that workshop, and those box-shaped machines? They are trade-quality 3D printers. They had two of them in there. They have downloaded the specifications of the Glocks, and are creating 3D replicas. You can make damn near anything with these printers, I read about them, and they have chosen to make a dent in the Berg’s arms industry, by offering a cheaper, attractive, local alternative. Hey, you don’t need to import guns anymore! You just build them in an afternoon like an Airfix model. And the added benefits of these guns? Plastic doesn’t show up on metal detectors. They were offering a superior product, on the cheap. No wonder the Berg’s own business was struggling. And they played us to perfection, Jack. They had us go there, on the pretense of something entirely different, to take out their competition for them, our services bought by the spilling of your father’s blood.’