To Kill a Grey Man (10 page)

Olivia wondered what she had now got herself into.
 
“Fuck,” she thought.
 
“Nothing for nothing in
this world.
 
How stupid of me to
believe I was getting paid to run the shop for Collins.
 
It must be a front for something.”

The men downstairs were getting louder and Olivia heard a loud crash
as they tipped a display onto the floor.
 
She took a deep breath, ran into the bathroom, flushed the toilet chain
then ran down the stairs.

“Sorry,” she said.
 
“I was
busy upstairs.”

She looked at the two big, powerful, frightening men and thought
they were clearly bully boys used to getting their own way.

“Where is he?” said the biggest man, obviously in charge.

“Who?” said Olivia
innocently.

“Jonathan.
 
The
owner’s son.”

“No idea,” said Olivia.
 
“His
dad owns the shop and he comes and goes as he pleases.
 
I don’t know where he is today.”

Keith Poole looked at the little girl, quite pretty in her way and
obviously frightened.
 
He pushed past her
and they both looked all round the shop then down in the cellar.
Nothing.
 
He looked at
the stairs to the flat and grabbed Olivia by the scruff of the neck and marched
her upstairs.
 
He sent his
opo
to look round and sat her at the table in the kitchen.

“Now,” said Keith.
 
“Your
boyfriend owes me a lot of money, you understand and I want it.”

“He is not my boyfriend and I don’t know where he is,” said Olivia
and began to sob.

Keith could see the toddler asleep on the sofa and thought of
threatening to hurt him it to scare the girl more but he could see she was
already petrified.
 
“Sit there,” he said.
 
He started to look round the flat.
 
He wandered into the small bedroom and sat
down on the bed thinking what to do next.
 
He checked his watch.
 
He had no
word from any of the other teams which was very worrying. He wondered what John
Sea would do if it all went wrong.
 
He
hoped it was just a timing issue otherwise he knew he might not last the day.

Jonathan was behind the wall with sweat pouring from him.
 
He had heard the man walking into the bedroom
and he could hear him breathing.
 
He
could also hear Olivia sobbing.
 
Suddenly
he realized he still had his mobile phone on.
 
If he got a text or someone called, he was dead.
 
The irony was
,
he
was surrounded by weapons but completely defenseless.

Keith got up, walked into the kitchen and said, “When you see Jonathan,
tell him we need to speak to him about his father.
 
Tell him no police, okay?
 
And we will be back.”

Olivia nodded between sobs and he went down the stairs.
 
As soon as the men had left the shop, Olivia’s
tears dried up.
 
She had been around men
like this all her life and knew how to turn on the waterworks.
 
She went to the window and saw the large
Mercedes drive away.
 
She walked into the
small bedroom and let Jonathan out of the alcove.

“What is going on?” she shouted.
 
“What the bloody hell have you got me into?”

“I’m sorry, sorry,” he said shaking.
 
“I have no idea.
 
Dad called and
told me to hide.
 
Thank you so much for
helping.”

He phoned his dad.
 
“They’ve
gone.”

“Thank God,” said Collins and Jonathan could hear the relief in his
voice.
  

“Look we have to go away for a few days.
 
Tell Olivia to run the shop and to tell anyone
who asks that we are on holiday.
 
Okay?
 
I am going to grab some
clothes for you from home.
 
I want you to
pack everything in that alcove into bags and have them waiting by the back door.
 
I will be with you in twenty minutes.”

“What is going on?” said Jonathan.

“I am not sure,” said Collins.
 
“But we will piece it together and then whoever has come after us will
rue this day.”

He hung up and re-dialed.
 
Surge
answered the phone.

“How many?” said
Surge.

“Two dead,” replied Collins.

 
“Ah, I have three,” said
Surge.

“Are you okay?” asked Collins.

“Sure,” said Surge.
 
“No
problem.”

“Okay, where are they?” said Collins.

Surge gave the details of the alley.

 
“Right leave it with me.
 
I will pick you up in one hour,” said Collins.

“Give me an hour and twenty.
 
I
have a bit of private business to attend to.”

“Sure,” said Collins and rung off.
 

Immediately his phone rang.
 
It
was The Grey Man.

“How many?”
Collins
asked.
 

“At least five dead judging by the shooting,” said The Grey Man.

“Okay.
 
Well, that makes ten
altogether.
 
It was two for me and three
for Surge. Jonathan they missed.
 
Thank
God.
 
What
is going on?” said Collins.

“Look, I think I might know,” said The Grey Man.
 
“They are after me and they know you would
hunt them down so decided to take us all out at once.
 
I think The Firm
are
involved.”

“But why now?” said Collins.

“Because I woke up blind this morning,” said The Grey Man.

Collins went quiet for a moment as he took that in thinking what
that would mean to someone like The Grey Man.

“Are you okay?
 
“Where are you?
 
I think we all need to go on the run and try
to work this out.”

“I am hidden, I hope, in a thicket in a woods around 1000 yards to
the north east of my house.
 
You cannot
miss the house.
 
It must be a pile of
rubble with police and firemen crawling all over it,” said The Grey Man and he
gave the address.

“Right.
 
I’m going to pick up Surge and my son and be
with you in around two hours.
 
Keep still.
 
As we get close I will call you.”

Collins then phoned up The Firm and gave the address of his house
and the alley, with instructions that there were five to clean up.
 
He gave his special code.
 
If anyone bad had infiltrated The Firm this
would send them a nice message they had screwed up big time.

Collins dragged both bodies to the side of the house.
 
He went upstairs and pulled out a couple of
large, leather bags and some fresh white towels from under the bed in the spare
room.
 
In one he packed his working
clothes, mainly black shirts and trousers and some clothes for Jonathan.
 
He then went to his bedroom and took down the
concealed entrance to his workshop.
 
This
was a small area with rows and rows of weapons placed on special wall hangers
or in racks plus a small work bench.
 
He
knew what guns Jonathan would bring from the shop so he only selected a few
from here.
 
Alongside the
Glock
he had already used today he selected the mini Uzi
and his elephant pistol.
 
This was a
massive handgun designed to be used by the Los Angeles motorcycle cops.
 
The gun was so powerful that the cops would
pull up alongside any car that would not stop, draw the gun and shoot through
the car’s engine.
 
It worked beautifully,
seizing up any engine it hit but it was so difficult to handle it was only in
service for a couple of years and was now a collector’s item.

Collins wrapped this and the other guns in the towels along with a
few tools, plenty of ammunition, cleaning rags and some oil and placed them
into the other bag.
 
He replaced the
concealed door and quickly carried both heavy bags down to the garage.
 
He opened the boot of the Audi A6 and put both
bags in it.

Knowing The Firm was on their way for a cleanup he did not lock
anything, just pulled out onto the quiet street.
 
He drove carefully checking to ensure he was
not followed, he then circled back.
 
Some
two miles from his house there was a row of private lock up garages.
 
Unbeknown to anyone, he owned them all.
 
He opened the third garage and drove in the
A6.
 
He transferred everything to a new
black Range Rover with dark tinted privacy windows that he knew was not traceable
back to him.
 
From a rack at the back of
the garage, he gathered his escape bag.
 
Time was moving on and he powered out of the garage hitting the electric
button that closed the doors behind him.
 
He was operational and now on the run.

.
  
.
  
.
  
.
  
.
  
.

Surge jogged back to his pub, quickly showered and then sat down at
his desk.
 
He wrote two letters, one to
his solicitor which he put a first class stamp on and one to Steve which read;

Dear Steve

I have to go away for a while.
 
Please look after the pub for the next few
weeks.
 
If you haven’t burnt it down by
my return, there will be a nice bonus for you.
 

If I do not return within
six months I have instructed my solicitor to sign the pub over to you.

         
Good luck,

         
Surge

He put that in a
plain white envelope and scrawled
Steve
on the front.

He pulled out his escape bag from a small,
cleverly concealed box in the bottom of his wardrobe which all field staff have
in case of emergencies.
 
It held his
passports in various names, working credit cards and money.
 
To this he added clothes and his wash bag.
 
He walked downstairs, put the bag behind the
counter and went looking for Steve.
 
Unfortunately
he was out but he bumped into Jonny, Steve’s erstwhile, helper, waiter and friend.

“Give this to Steve when you see him will
you?” said Surge giving the envelope to Jonny who stuffed it into the pocket of
his scruffy jeans.

With the other letter in his hand, Surge started
to walk into town.

Chapter 14

Putting out the Rubbish

Paul the Chemist was in bed when the front door bell rang
and rang and rang.
 
“Someone must be
leaning on the button!” he thought.

He finally dragged himself out of his pit and went looking
for the wanker who had disturbed him.
 
In
the front room music was still belting out and beer cans, last night’s takeaway
and what was left of the drugs were all over the filthy floor.
 
Donkey was snoring on the sofa, too lazy
after last night’s excesses to go to bed and Charisma Jim was nowhere to be
seen.

At the door Paul looked through the eyehole.
 
On the other side was the old publican from
down the road.

“Well this is going to be his unlucky day,” thought
Paul.
 
“Who the fuck does he think he is
knocking on my door?”

Paul threw open the door and was just about to move forward
when Surge hit him in the throat.
 
It was
a perfect hit with just enough force, the strike was aimed at a nerve to the
right of the main artery it allowed Paul to breathe out but not in.
 
Both Paul’s hands went to his throat and he
staggered back sliding down the wall, mouth wide, face turning red.

Donkey, hearing the noise, charged down the corridor of the
flat towards Surge swinging punches right and left.
 
Surge stepping in blocked both punches on his
forearms then smashed his head into Donkey’s nose smashing it completely.
 
His right arm swung through a vicious arc and
the elbow broke Donkey’s jaw.
 
Surge
shifted his weight and his left arm wrapped around Donkey’s neck which he pulled
towards him.
 
Surge then moved closer and
swept Donkey’s legs forwards from under him whilst still holding his neck tight.
 
Donkey, now off balance, crashed to the floor.
 
He landed awkwardly with Surge’s weight on
top of him and all that force shot up his spine breaking three disks and
rupturing the muscles.
 
He screamed and
rolled over in agony.

Charisma Jim was in the bathroom.
 
He heard what was happening and ran out to
help, straight into a right hook that broke his cheek, another punch which took
out two of his ribs and a crashing kick which broke his pelvis.
 
He collapsed onto the floor, whimpering.

Surge then went back to Paul the Chemist who by now had
just regained the ability to breathe.

Surge crouched down and spoke very quietly into his ear.

“You are not wanted or needed here.
 
If I see you again I will kill you.
 
Okay?”

Paul the Chemist nodded quickly his eyes bulging in fear.
 
Surge then broke his arm, wrist and leg.

On the way out he picked up Paul’s mobile and phoned the
ambulance service. He gave the address, said there had been a gang fight over
drugs and told them no one was too injured so not to hurry.
 
Slamming the door behind him, the music
continued to blare all round the building.
 
It all took less the three minutes, time to spare.

.
  
.
  
.
  
.
  
.
  
.

Jonathan started to put everything in the alcove into the bags as
Olivia went down and locked the shop door turning the sign to ‘
Closed
’.
 
She came back up and sat at the kitchen table with Little Ben on her lap.
 
Once Jonathan had finished he took both heavy
bags to the back door and then came back and sat with her.

“What is going on?” she said again.
 
“Please tell me.”

“I have no idea.”

“Don’t give me that,” shouted Olivia losing her temper.
 
“Those are bloody guns!
 
What are you? Mafia, drugs, what?”

“Look, my dad works for the government.
 
He has done so all his life and I think
someone from the past is after him,” said Jonathan trying to explain.

“Are you trying to tell me your dad is James bloody Bond?” she
screamed and Little Ben started to cry so she hugged him closer.

“No.
 
But you have to believe
me when I tell you we are not the bad guys.”

“I will call the police,” she threatened.

“Please don’t do that,” said Jonathan reaching across to hold her
hand as he could see how shaken up she was.
 
“It will only make matters worse.
 
Please help us.
 
All we need you
to do is keep the shop open and tell anyone who asks that my dad and I are on holiday.
 
I promise you I will tell you everything
when I get back.”

A car horn sounded one beep and Jonathan went to the back window.
 
There was a black Range Rover parked and his
dad leaning out of the window.

Jonathan signaled down two minutes and then turned back to Olivia
and said, “I promise no harm will come to you.”

Olivia looked up.
 
“I will
give you two weeks and then I will call the police to say you are missing.
 
Okay?”

“Fine,” said Jonathan but as he went to leave she stood in his path.
 
She put down Little Ben, stepped forward and
gave Jonathan a hug.

“Be careful,” she said.

Now completely confused Jonathan sprinted down the stairs, picked up
the bags and threw them in the back of the Range Rover.
 
He climbed up into the front seat and as soon
as he sat down Collins gunned the engine and they were off.