Numb: A Dark Thriller (28 page)

43

Riley usual filled his car up at the Londis Garage by the cinema at ten every Friday night. A full tank cost him sixty-quid and most of it would be used up over the next few nights due to the many trips to various venues he would have to undertake. Tonight, however, he was out of luck. The garage next to the cinema was out of diesel and so he had to drive to the garage next to the bridge, five miles out of his way, a location he would normally be nowhere near at this time. There were no bars around here. No doormen for him to check in with.

This was fate sticking its nose in.

He stood in the rain, watching the digits on the pump’s display race up at an astronomical rate, wondering if tonight would be the night everything kicked off. It
was
Friday night, after all. The start of the weekend when the police and paramedics were at their busiest.

Since the explosions earlier in the week, Riley had informed all of the doormen that more attacks would probably be on their way. If anyone wanted to quit, then do it now. Twelve did. They were part timers and didn’t need the grief and Riley didn’t try to change their minds but instead told those who’d chosen to stay to be vigilant at work. These attacks wouldn’t be by drunken thugs. They would be planned and dangerous. Dainton couldn’t get to Nash as Nash had since upped the security at his apartment and barely left the place anymore (apparently, Dainton was living the exact same way – it was tough at the top). No, Dainton’s best bet was to hit Nash’s businesses or to hack away at the army of men at his disposal, and because Nash had gone all out to destroy Dainton these last few days, revenge certainly seemed on the cards. McCabe (the ever
confusing
McCabe) and Howden had firebombed two of his betting shops in broad daylight resulting in several injuries but luckily no deaths. The next night, they’d beaten one of Dainton’s main drug runners half to death before taking his cash and stock. The next steps were to take out some of his high up men, burn his casino and other small businesses to the ground and eventually take the big man himself out – as slowly and painfully as possible.

Riley replaced the petrol cap and paid for the fuel at the serving window, still in a dream, still thinking, still worrying about what may lie ahead in the next few hours.

On his way back to the Merc, the dream was broken.

From the road that ran parallel to the garage came the thumping sound of music from a passing car. Probably some seventeen-year old and his mates in a second-hand Golf with a jazzed up sound-system, Riley first thought. But, after doing a double-take, he knew differently.

There, barely fifty yards from him, casually driving past with rock music blaring inside the Toyota, was McCabe. Riley didn’t even try to get his attention. Instead, he climbed in the Merc and steered out of the garage forecourt. He had every intention of heading back to work until he saw McCabe’s Toyota filter into the lane for the bridge. He was heading over to the North side.

What the hell was going on? Why would he be heading over there? As far as Riley knew, Nash had nothing planned tonight. No surprise attacks on Dainton’s men or premises. And even if he did, McCabe wouldn’t be going alone and in his own vehicle, and he certainly wouldn’t be blasting out music and looking so relaxed.

Riley flicked his indicators from left to right, waited for a gap in the traffic and filtered into the lane for the bridge also, straining his eyes to find McCabe’s car within line of vehicles up ahead. He soon spotted him six cars up as they crossed the bridge into Dainton’s territory.

Soon the traffic in-between them dropped from five cars to four as one turned off the road. A mile later, there were only two cars between them.

What are you up to, McCabe?
Riley wondered. Then:
What the hell am
I
up to? I should be back at the club. Not all the way over here.

But he had to follow. Something inside told him McCabe was up to something, and that something was unknown to Nash. For a fleeting second Riley actually considered calling Nash or Turner to see if they had sent McCabe on a little mission tonight but quickly dismissed it. It would look suspicious. Plus, if McCabe
was
up to something, Riley wanted to find out just what it was before anyone else.

McCabe took a right, towards the coast.

Riley kept his distance and followed as the road stretched out before them, the North Sea, dark and brooding, a mile in the distance.

A few minutes later, McCabe pulled into a deserted car park. There was an abandoned arcade building to one side of it, it’s doors and windows boarded up and the sign that must have once read ‘WONDERLAND ARCADE’ or something now read ‘WO  DER   ND ARC  E’. To the other side of the car park was a neglected and overgrown green area of bushes and ill-looking trees fenced off from the pavement.

Riley drove past. Arched his neck to see why McCabe had chosen this place and saw that the car park wasn’t actually deserted. There was one other vehicle there.

Just before the trees and bushes obscured his view, Riley noticed the vehicle’s lights flash on and off a couple of times, as if greeting McCabe.

Something was going down. Discreet meetings like this aren’t called to discuss the football results or last night’s
Eastenders
episode. Whatever this was about was big.

Riley managed to turn the car around at a junction a few hundred yards further up the road before re-joining the mild traffic and doubling back. Before he reached the car park he slowed down, switched on his hazard warning lights to make the driver behind him think he was having some sort of engine trouble and pulled up onto the pavement so he didn’t block the road.

He climbed out and looked over to the car park. From this angle it was hidden by the overgrown foliage behind the fence. He would have to get closer.

Riley crossed the road and soon discovered that the trees separated the car park from a narrow path that led down to a small sandy beach. Riley followed it halfway until he found a spot where the shrubbery wasn’t as thick and offered a semi-decent view over the car park.

He could now see that McCabe had gotten out of his vehicle and had approached the other car. A BMW, it looked like. There was a man sitting in it. The internal light was on and Riley could see them shaking hands, McCabe leaning in through the open window like an old friend.

He had to catch this.

Riley pulled out his phone. His fingers fumbled over the buttons. He found the VIDEO setting, selected it and held the phone out in front of him to record this cosy little meeting.

Why though?
he wondered.
Are you gonna show Nash? The police? Just what are you going to do once you find the evidence that McCabe’s involved?

Riley didn’t try to answer his own questions. Instead, he kept recording, but could tell by the image on the phone’s screen that he was still too far away. It was blurry and neither man’s face could be made out.

Riley looked at the waist high fence holding back the urban jungle and it took less than a second for him to decide to jump over it and head through the trees to get closer to the car park. He didn’t care if his boots got muddy or his leather jacket ripped by the thorns as he walked deeper into the undergrowth. All he concentrated on was being quiet and keeping his phone steady as he held it out in front of him, keeping McCabe and the man he was talking to framed in the shot, both figures becoming crisper the closer he got, their faces becoming clearer, more recognisable.

Riley stopped when he was as close as he thought he could get and zoomed in to the phones capacity.

“Got you,” he whispered to himself.

On his phone, in real time, he had McCabe meeting with a man he recognised as Shaun Rodgers – one of Lenny Dainton’s top men whose position within that gang were similar to McCabe’s under Nash. Rodgers was a killer, a problem solver and thought to be in charge of the street runners and dealers on the North side. He’d not long been out of prison for-

Hang on a second...

Suddenly, Riley understood. Everything fell into place.

McCabe had been banged up in the same prison as Rodgers at the same time, probably on the same wing. Yes, he remembered at the time people thought there would be a power struggle inside between two of Nash and Dainton’s heavies. Obviously they’d been wrong. Instead of fighting each other, it looked like they teamed up. No doubt Dainton was as oblivious to this meeting as Nash would be. Yes, Purvis’s off-the-cuff remark had been bang on. These two fuckers are working together to get rid of both bosses.

But there was still that lingering question – why?

Riley was still over fifty yards away from them but the angle was now better and he was able to fit both of their faces into the frame for long periods, catching the movements of their mouths as they talked, catching Rodgers handing some paperwork through the open window to McCabe, catching them shaking hands again before Rodgers drove off and McCabe headed back to his Toyota. A good three minutes of footage in total.

Then headlights on McCabe’s car blazed to life and the sound of his revving engine floated up to Riley on the breeze along with the odour of salt and seaweed. Luckily, he drove back the way he came and so wouldn’t have noticed the Merc on the pavement, looking all sad and broken down.

Riley headed out of the bushes, checking the quality of the recording as he went. Most of it was perfect, there being no doubt about the identity of either man. Now he just had to figure out what to do with it. But did he really want show Nash? Let him take care of McCabe and Rodgers and continue his search for Purvis and Sandra? Would it be better to let McCabe and Rodgers take Nash out? It certainly would be safer for Purvis if he was out of the picture, and the little chat and the exchange of paperwork Riley had just witnessed meant that something would happen soon for sure.

You could always do the right thing and tell your friend detective Davison...

As he headed back to his car, still unsure of his next move, the footage on his phone suddenly froze before the screen went blank and the ringtone kicked in.

He had a call.

And when he saw the name, he knew something had already happened.

44

Spillers Bar was one of only a handful of establishments that Nash provided security for that wasn’t on the high street. One reason was that he owned it and wanted to protect his investment and the other was because it was one of the few places away from the main strip of bars and clubs that could get quite rowdy come the weekend. But rowdy was good. Rowdy places made money. And money was everything.

Spillers hosted lives acts every Friday and Saturday night. Sometimes it was a blue comedian or something more exotic like male or female strippers. Sometimes the entertainment was more low key, like a karaoke competition or charity casino night. A lot of time it was live music, like tonight, a local rock band called
The Harm
with a loyal following of heavy drinkers in tow. By nine, over a hundred people had turned up to watch the group and get smashed out of their brains whilst having their eardrums burst.

Halfway through the band’s third song the place had been stormed by a gang of ten men in ski masks. Most of the customers had no idea that the two doormen were being assaulted with bats and football socks filled with hardened concrete as the music was turned up to eleven in true
Spinal Tap
style and the noise of their beating was lost under the thud of the bass drum and roar of the electric guitars.

It was only when the masked men made it inside and turned over a few tables and began to smash up the bar that the group stopped playing, the hairy, bearded singer standing with his mouth agape, inches from the microphone that began to hiss feedback, and this more than anything seemed to alert the crowd as to what was going on around them.

The masked men didn’t seem intent on harming anyone else – including the bar staff – and as long as no one tried to play the hero and found a corner to hide in or the back door to escape via then they would come through this unscathed. The pub itself, however, would need several thousand spent on it before it would next do any business. Seats were slashed, paint was poured over the floor, lights were smashed, tables were broken and as much stock was destroyed as possible in the minute or so the thugs ran rampant before fleeing back into the mini van that had brought them here.

After the attack, the manager (who happened to be in his office and who had locked the door and hidden under his desk when he first realised what was going on) called the police. At the same time, Danny Bonner, the least injured of the two doorman, called Riley.

“We’ve been hit,” he’d grunted down the phone.

“Spillers?” Riley had replied. He’d been expecting Dainton’s men to pull something like this, but he’d expected the attack to be on one of Nash’s more prestigious businesses.

“Yeah, about ten of them,” Bonner said. “I think they’ve broke a couple of my ribs.”

“Any one else hurt?”

“None of the customers – most of them have left. So have the fucking band. I’ve never seen a group pack their gear up so quickly.”

“What about Vic?” Vic Stephenson was the other doorman.

“He’s okay – I think. He’s back inside. One of the fuckers coshed him pretty hard and split his head. The police are on the way.”

“I’ll come straight over.”

Riley hung up and as he raced back across the bridge into south Thirnbridge he called various doormen at various bars and told them what had gone on and to keep an eye out for any trouble makers. If they did, they knew what to do.

In case of emergencies there was a cascade system. The head doorman from a club or bar in danger would call the head doormen at the nearest venue, who would then call the next closest and so on, and half of the staff from each venue would tool up and hot tail it to the place where the trouble was or was expected to be soon.

That’s why Dainton hit Spillers
, Riley suddenly thought.
He knew reinforcements would be too late in coming.

Riley arrived at the smashed up bar twenty minutes after getting the call from Danny Bonner and hurried inside.

The scene was carnage. It looked like a whirlwind had hit the inside of the place. Tables and chairs were overturned and there was more smashed glass on the floor than a Greek dinner-party. Vic Stephenson was sitting in one corner and his bloodied head was being treated by paramedics. Danny Bonner was talking with two police officers whilst holding his ribs and looking like he had the world’s worst case of trapped wind.

“I don’t believe it,” Riley said as he walked closer and one of the officers turned and flashed him a smile.

“Hello, Riley,” Davison said.

“Well, hello to you too,” he replied. “Are you haunting me, detective?”

Davison smiled and said, “You’re the one who keeps turning up.”

“I could say the same about you.”

“It’s my job.”

“Same here.”

Bonner left when Burns told him he could and he nodded at Riley as he limped away to get treatment.

“Bad shit, tonight,” Burns said, looking around at the mess.

“You’re telling me,” Riley said.

“You got here fast,” Davison said.

“Not as fast as you did. How was that?”

Davison smiled and said, “I’ve been working late whilst on this case. I figure if anything will happen it’ll be late on.”

“Well, you’d be right,” Riley said. He took in the destruction another time. Thought about the customers and staff who could’ve been hurt. The two good doormen who had been. All of this had been caused by McCabe and Rodgers. Maybe enough was enough.

Tell her
, a little voice inside him said.
Tell her what you know before more innocent people are hurt.
But Riley couldn’t find the words. Grassing was so unnatural to him.

Instead, he asked, “Have you informed Nash about this?”

“Not yet,” Davison said. “I hear he’s not really in the right frame of mind at the minute and mightn’t take it so well.”

That was an understatement. Turner had taken over running most of the day to day business as Nash sank more and more into delirium. He hadn’t been sleeping much and the effects could be seen in his haggard features. He was also snorting more coke than usual, was reputed to be drinking a bottle of brandy a day and, despite all the problems in his life, he’d been happily taking his frustration out on a selection of easy young women, sometimes having two or three staying with him at his apartment in a single night. He was on a one way ticket to destruction and seemed intent on living the remainder of his life in a drunken, drug-induced haze despite the escalating trouble with Dainton and his desperate search for Purvis and Sandra. Turner – working on behalf of Nash - had tried everything he could to locate both their whereabouts. He’d bribed a lot of people in various positions to track Purvis’s cash with-drawls and after finding out that large sums had been taken out in several branches in at least three northern towns he’d put the word out with various contacts up the country but no sightings had yet been reported. Turner had also found some young computer student with the ability to hack into airport booking systems to see if Purvis had tried to make it out of the country alone using his own passport but nothing had turned up either.

Hopefully, Riley prayed, things would stay that way.

“Nash is okay,” he lied. “I’ll call him and tell him when we’re done here.”

“I also heard one of his men ran off with his girlfriend,” Davison said, stirring the shit.

“You hear a lot.”

“Not enough, though. By the way, the CCTV from the mansion didn’t show much regarding who was behind the bombs. The people who planted them knew where to stay to keep out of the way of the cameras. The camera on the gates showed a black van driving in but there’s no footage of any person or persons inside. We couldn’t get a trace on the van, either. The footage from the high street shows two men in raincoats and hoods carrying a box up the alley to the club an hour before the explosion but we can’t ID them either.”

“Makes sense,” Riley said. “Attacks like that wouldn’t have been a spur of the moment thing, would they? They would’ve been planned in detail.”

“It makes you think, though, doesn’t it?” Davison said cryptically.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Riley told her, knowing full well what she meant.

Inside job. Eureka, she finally had it!

“It got me thinking that maybe all of this wasn’t down to Lenny Dainton. Maybe someone close to Nash wants rid of him also. Mr Purvis looked after the security at Nash’s mansion-”

“Now hold it there,” Riley snapped, and suddenly DS Davison didn’t look as attractive as she had a second ago. “Are you trying to say that he was behind these things?”

“I’m not saying that,” she said, innocently. “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

“Well if you can’t prove it, don’t mention it. Purvis is a good bloke.”

“A good bloke doesn’t run off with his boss’s wife,” Burns butted in.

“It still doesn’t make him a killer,” Riley said. “It takes a special kind of person to be okay with taking another life.”

Tell her about McCabe!
part of his mind screamed.
Enough’s enough. End this!

Again, Riley couldn’t find the words.

“Okay, then.” Davison looked at Burns. “I think we have all we need here. Uniform can finish up.”

They walked towards the door just as Howden walked in. Strangely, the site of the big man put Riley’s vocal chords in gear.

“Detective!” he called and Davison stopped and turned back. “Aren’t you gonna offer me a card.”

“I thought you had one,” she said.

Riley shrugged.

“I might have misplaced it.”

Davison rummaged in her suit pocket and found one. She handed it to Riley and he tucked it in his back pocket.

“Call me,” she said, a fresh glint in her eyes.

“I might,” he told her.

You have to. Enough is enough.

Davison and Burns passed Howden without looking at him. Howden managed take in Davison’s firm behind as she left.

“I’d give her one if she wasn’t a copper,” he said as he reached Riley. Then he looked around the place. “Fucking hell, what a mess.”

“What brings you here?” Riley asked, playing it cool and acting like he hadn’t almost broken the ultimate gangland rule and opened up to the filth.

“You,” Howden said. “The doormen at Twilight said you would be here. Said you called about some trouble and told them to watch out. I called you but you didn’t answer so I drove over.”

Riley checked his phone and saw three missed calls from Howden. He mustn’t have heard the ringtone over the roar of the engine whilst driving here at almost twice the speed limit.

“I take it this was Dainton’s mob,” Howden asked.

“Looks like it,” said Riley.

“Well, they’ll have to wait for now.”

“Why, what’s up?”

“Purvis,” Howden said, grinning. “We’ve found him.”

Riley closed his eyes and rubbed his temples in frustration.

This night was just getting better and better.