Assassin (19 page)

Carter continued his skilful manipulations, feeling her body quiver violently. Her cries gradually receded into small whimpers of pleasure and she stroked his hair until he slowly rose, his own erection now throbbing powerfully inside his trousers.

Tina sat up, reaching for his zip, pulling it down, loosening his belt so that she could remove his trousers completely.

As she did, Carter removed his shirt.

In a matter of moments he too was naked.

He took Tina in his arms, as a man might carry a child and walked through to the sitting room.

There he laid her gently on the floor and slid his stiff shaft slowly into her, savouring the tightness of her muscles as they enveloped him like a slippery glove. He moved effortlessly within her, withdrawing almost to the very limit before pushing deep into her again. She urged him on, knowing that his own climax was close.

Carter felt her hands on his back, her nails scraping gently against the flesh of his spine, trailing down to his buttocks. She gripped him hard, forcing him into her with a ferocity which seemed to overtake them both, an animalistic frenzy which had only one purpose. Their mutual release.

He grunted deep in his throat as he felt that ultimate pleasure sweep over him and Tina too gasped her delight as she felt his hot fluid filling her.

They writhed together, melting into one for brief seconds. As if their two bodies had fused with the heat of their passion.

All they felt was pleasure.

For those exquisite moments there was nothing else but love.

Carter stroked Tina's cheek with the back of his hand and she twisted her face to kiss his fingers, taking one into her mouth. He smiled down at her, pushing some hair from her face, enjoying its softness against his fingers.

'I love you,' she whispered, raising her head to kiss him gently on the tip of the nose. As she lay back down he saw that there were tears in her eyes. 'Don't leave me, Ray. Please.'

He shook his head.

'I'll never leave you,' he told her, holding her tightly in his arms, gripping her until it seemed he would snap her in two.

'Never.'

They continued to hold one another, enjoying the touch of the other's body. Lost in a moment which was all too fleeting. But for that reason they savoured it even more. Able, momentarily, to forget everything else. The fear. The pain.

For now there was just love.

The second punch broke McIntire's nose.

The nasal bone dissolved under the impact and the fleshy appendage was momentarily flattened by the force of the blow. Blood burst from the smashed nose, most of it spilling down McIntire's chest, colouring his white shirt.

He toppled backwards, slamming his head against the floor, his arms bound behind him tightly to prevent him protecting himself.

Joe Duggan dragged the chair upright again and McIntire found himself gazing into Frank Harrison's face.

The gang boss gripped McIntire by the chin and twisted his head round so that he was looking directly into the older man's eyes.

'Don't pass out on me yet, you bastard,' snarled Harrison and drove another pile-driver punch into the face of the bound man.

The neat blow split his bottom lip and loosened one of his teeth. More blood spilled down his chin.

'How much did Barbieri pay you to set me up?' Harrison demanded, stepping back and lighting a cigarette.

'Frank, I swear to God I didn't set you up,' McIntire burbled, feeling his stomach contract as some blood ran back

down his throat. He tried to wrestle his arms free of the rope which held him but the hemp had been fastened so tight that it cut into his flesh.

'Don't lie to me, you cunt,' Harrison snarled, taking a step closer. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth and, with one swift movement, pressed it to McIntire's right cheek, hearing the hiss as the glowing end burned flesh.

McIntire screamed in pain as his skin was seared by the glowing tip. The skin darkened then rose swiftly into a blister.

Harrison gripped the other man by the hair and wrenched his head back, ignoring the blood which smeared his own hands.

'How much were you paid?' the boss roared.

McIntire could only grunt in pain. A low gurgle escaped him, as if he were gargling with the blood which filled his throat. Harrison snarled angrily and hit him again, this time with the back of his hand. The heavy signet ring which the gang boss wore caught him across the cheek and tore some of the skin.

'You've worked for me for more than seven years,' Harrison reminded him. 'Why, Lou?'

McIntire's head lolled forward on to his chest and he spat blood feebly on to his shirt.

'It was bad enough having a go at me,' Harrison continued. 'But four of my best men are dead and my girl was almost killed. Tell me what that fucking wop paid you or I'll give you pain you could never have dreamed of.'

McIntire shook his head slowly and tried to speak. His lip had already swollen up badly, his nose looked as if it had been repeatedly slammed against a wall. To someone entering the room and glancing quickly at him, he appeared to be wearing a crimson mask. Only his eyes showed white amidst the blood.

'Who killed Joule and Dome?' Harrison asked.

'I don't know,' McIntire told him weakly.

'And Pat Mendham?'

Again the other man merely shook his head as if he were resigned to his fate. Had he known what that was to be, he might well have been a little more forthcoming with his answers.

Harrison looked at Billy Stripes and nodded. The big man crossed to a cabinet behind his boss's desk and pulled something out. An object with a long lead.

It took McIntire only a second to realize it was a power drill.

He watched in terror as Billy plugged it in and pressed the starter button, watching as the bit spun at over 3,500 rpm. The high pitched whine died away as he switched it off again and moved closer to McIntire who now began to struggle even more violently in his chair. ,

'Hold him,' snapped Harrison and Joe Duggan duly obliged, steadying the captive as Billy moved closer, flicking the drill on again. It gave off a plaintive scream as the drill bit spun viciously.

'Roll his trousers up,' Harrison instructed, watching as Drake knelt by the bound man's legs and tore the material, exposing bare flesh to just above the knee.

'Frank, for God's sake,' shrieked McIntire, struggling madly, his eyes bulging in their sockets.

'Keep the fucker still,' the gang boss instructed, savouring the terror on his victim's face as Billy bent lower, the drill bit aimed at a spot just below McIntire's left kneecap.

'Oh Jesus, no,' McIntire bellowed, trying to squirm free. His shouts had become sobs. 'Frank, please call him off, for God's sake.'

The drill was barely six inches from his kneecap.

'Who killed my men?' Harrison demanded.

'I don't know. I swear on my mother's life. Please God stop it, for fuck's sake, please.' The entreaties fell on deaf ears.

Four inches away.

'How much did Barbieri pay you to set me up?'

Three inches.

'I'll tell you, I'll tell you anything. Please stop,' screamed McIntire.

Two inches.

'You've got to learn, Lou,' Harrison said, grinning.

One inch.

'But I said I’d tell you,' screamed McIntire, looking down to see that the drill was still aimed at his kneecap. 'Frank, please. Please ...'

The last word dissolved into a shriek of agony, the like of which few of the men in the room had ever heard.

The drill bit lacerated flesh then, with Billy Stripes' weight behind it, cut effortlessly through the bone of the patella, churning nerves and ligaments on its way. There was a high-pitched squeal as the bone was pierced then followed by a loud crack as the entire kneecap split in two. Billy began to pull it free, blood flying from the spinning bit.

McIntire felt his leg go numb as pain enveloped it from toe to thigh. It felt as if someone had set light to the whole limb. He screamed but the sound faded as he felt consciousness leaving him. His head flopped forward but Duggan seized his hair and snapped him upright again, slapping his bloodied face to revive him.

Tears of pain and fear were coursing down his cheeks, cutting a path through the crimson fluid which had congealed there.

Harrison looked on impassively.

'I hate fucking grasses,' he said vehemently. 'You talk too much, Lou. Maybe we should make sure you don't keep on babbling.'

Harrison reached behind him into the drawer of his desk.

He held the pliers in his right hand so that McIntire could get a good look at them. Then the gang boss stepped forward.

'Open his mouth,' he said to Joe Duggan.

Realizing what was to happen, McIntire clamped his jaws firmly together, much as a frightened child might do at the dentist.

Harrison nodded at Duggan who gripped the other man's jaws and started to prise them open. McIntire resisted stubbornly, his face, wet with his own blood, was difficult to grip and he managed to jerk away from Duggan's grip for precious seconds but it was only a momentary respite.

Billy Stripes put down the drill and grabbed McIntire's broken nose, twisting the already shattered bone until more blood flowed. The combination of being unable to breath and the agonising pain caused McIntire to open his mouth.

Quick as a flash, Duggan gripped the other man's bottom jaw and weighed down on it causing his mouth to yawn open.

Harrison advanced with the pliers, eyes narrowed, glancing at the terrified McIntire for a moment. Then he fastened the steel grips onto one of McIntire's bottom incisors and pulled.

Such was the force exerted by the gang boss that the tooth cracked under the strain and McIntire screamed again as enamel and pulp spilled back on to his tongue. He retched violently but did not vomit. Excruciating pain thundered inside his head with each beat of his heart and he tried to beg for mercy but, before he could speak, Harrison had taken a firm grip on a molar at the back of his open mouth.

This tooth was stronger and as Harrison tugged, he actually felt it come free of the gum. Blood filled McIntire's mouth but Harrison continued pulling, actually pressing one foot against the captive man's chair to gain more leverage. McIntire tried to struggle but it was useless. Held by a combination of ropes and two of his former colleagues, he was helpless, able only to sit there as Harrison continued wrenching his tooth from its socket.

A little more of the molar came free, tendrils of root dangling from the dripping base.

McIntire felt as if the top of his head was coming off and, incredibly, the pain seemed to intensify as Harrison finally succeeded in ripping the molar out. He gripped it in the teeth of the pliers, like some dripping trophy, blood and sputum hanging from it like thick streamers. He glanced into McIntire's open mouth and saw the hole in the gum left by the tooth. It was a nasty wound, rather like an open sore. It pumped blood steadily.

The gang leader waited for a moment then took hold of another tooth.

This time McIntire blacked out and no amount of slapping roused him.

Harrison ripped the tooth out, snapping it as he did so, leaving a large portion of the root still in the lacerated gum. Then he threw it to one side and looked into McIntire's face.

The man was breathing faintly, his chest rising almost imperceptibly.

Harrison stepped back, never taking his eyes from the unconscious individual before him.

'Get rid of him,' he said to Billy Stripes. 'Then clean this place up. I'm going back to the flat to see how Tina is. First I've got to make a couple of phone calls.'

'So what do we do now, Frank?' Duggan asked.

'What we should have done in the beginning,' said the gang boss, reaching for the phone. He dialled, waiting for the receiver to be picked up at the other end. As he stood waiting he wrinkled his nose, aware that McIntire had lost control of his bowels. The phone was finally picked up at the other end. 'Thorpe? This is Harrison,' he said. 'You didn't come up with the goods did you? I had to do the work myself.' He looked at the unconscious figure of McIntire and grinned.

'I've been too busy trying to cover what happened yesterday,' the Detective Inspector said. 'Car chases, gun fights. Where do you think you are, New York? Well fuck you, I've had enough. I told you I couldn't protect you if things went as far as this. You're on your own now, Frank.'

'You were never any use to me, Thorpe,' Harrison said. 'But listen to me, you'd better keep your head down in the next few weeks because otherwise you might be going down with the rest of them.'

'The rest of who? What the hell are you planning?' the policeman wanted to know.

'Every other gang leader in London,' Harrison snarled. 'I'm wiping them out. This has gone too far, you're right. Well now I'm going to call a man who can get the fucking job done.'

'A hit man?'

'Bright boy. Well, now you know you'd better keep out of the way otherwise he might have to add one more to his list.'

'You can't do it,' Thorpe protested.

'Don't you ever tell me what I can or can't do,' the gang leader said. 'I gave you forty-eight hours. I sat still for forty-eight hours. Well fuck it. No more. You had your chance and you blew it. Now it's
my
turn.'

PART TWO

`I never ask no questions,

I never speak my mind.

I've always found that silence

helps to keep me and my kind alive ...'

Judas Priest

`Hell is a city much like London ...'

Shelley

`You might attract more customers if you cleaned the place up. It stinks in here.'

Frank Harrison waved a hand in front of his nose and squinted once more at the large ledger laid out before him.