Numb: A Dark Thriller (6 page)

“Uncky Dywan. Party?” Wendy asked Purvis, snapping him from his trance.

“Am I going to the party tonight? I am, Sweety.” He kissed her head again and tugged at one of her pigtails for fun. Wendy laughed and buried her head into his shoulder. “We just have to see your... dad first.”

Riley knew it had hurt Purvis to say that word. To refer to Nash as Wendy’s father must be like a dagger in his heart.

“Woom,” Wendy said.

“Womb?” Riley asked.

“I think she means
room,
” Purvis said and laughed. “Nash is in his office.” He kissed Wendy’s cheek again, placed her gently on the floor and said, “We’ll see you later, Sweety. You go and help your mum.”

“Ba-bye,” she said and scurried away happily. Innocently. Oblivious to all the horrors of the big, bad world.

Purvis watched her go. Smiled and waved to Sandra when she sneaked a glance back at him. To Riley, it was one of those scenes which made the relationship between the two of them so obvious. But, he assumed, that was because he knew what was going on. He was the
only
one who knew, and therefore scenes like this resonated more with him. To the others, Purvis was simply acting like a loving ‘uncle’, a decent bloke who cared deeply for the daughter of a friend.

“You okay?” Riley whispered.

“Sometimes are just harder than others,” Purvis said quietly. “But it’s alright. Soon the three of us will be together.”

Riley nodded. He hoped they would be.

“But not tonight,” he told Purvis. “So don’t beat yourself up about it now. Come on, let’s see the boss.”

7

They went through another pass-card guarded door marked
STAFF
. At the end of a short corridor was door marked
PRIVATE
. This was the manager’s office that in turn linked onto another room via a thick steel door where the club’s takings were kept before being banked. Even though Nash employed a full time manager to run the club, this room was his when he was around.

Riley knocked three times.

“Yeah, come in,” came the reply.

Mike Nash was sat at the desk, dressed in a shiny grey suit that, along with the Rolex and several rings and bracelets, probably cost more than most people’s cars. He wasn’t the biggest man you’d ever seen, but with his solid frame, bald head and worn face that had obviously been in a few fights in its time (the top of his nose and forehead were permanently swollen, like a boxer’s), he looked every part an English gangster. His eyes were the most disturbing though. Riley always thought you could tell a lot by a person’s eyes and the way they looked at you. Nash’s stared right through people, like a tiger eyeing its prey, like he could rip you to pieces at a second’s notice without feeling guilty afterwards. After all, it had been his ruthless streak that had helped him get where he was today.

Riley knew the story well.

Twenty years ago Lenny Dainton had been Thirnbridge’s most powerful criminal, mainly working the north side of the river that back then had been the most lucrative part of the city. When he was eventually caught and imprisoned for his masterminding the robbing of a security van carrying almost half a million, a young Mike Nash – as well as many other small time crooks - saw an opportunity to take over from where Dainton had left off. Nash already had a small army of men working with him, pulling protection rackets, small robberies and, of course, lending money to poor fools who couldn’t pay it back. He scared off the competition early on with beatings and knee-cappings, sending out a message that there was a new man in town. When he took over the docks in Dainton’s absence, allowing him to do deals with foreign criminals wanting to ship their merchandise abroad, he was soon untouchable. Then, just after the millennium, Thirnbridge council announced plans to rejuvenate the run-down centre on the south side of the river, building new hotels and bars and nightclubs, hoping to cash in on the British love of a good night out. Within a few years, Nash – through terror and good business sense – had reached the top, making money by infiltrating the construction industry and ploughing the money he made into property and businesses, buying bars and clubs and apartments. When Dainton was released from prison a few years later after serving thirteen years of his twenty year sentence, he came out to a new world. Nash was the head man in Thirnbridge now, and after a couple of failed attempts to regain some power (a few street shootings, a few petrol bombed properties of Nash’s and a few of his own men beaten, stabbed, burnt and shot in return) Dainton finally resigned to the north side of the river, overseeing the few businesses he still had in a form of semi-retirement. Nash had left him be. He didn’t need a war with Dainton. The north side was dead.
His
side of the city was where the money was. He had won, he was now the top dog, and it would always be that way.

“Hello, boys,” he said, his voice deep and raspy due to the several cigars he smoked daily. There was a long, thick Cuban burning in the ashtray in front of him as he continued to leaf through some paperwork. For all Riley knew they could be the plans for a massive drug shipment or something as mundane as an invoice for the club. “I’m in a good mood so I hope you two aren’t bringing me bad news.”

Purvis went first. Despite the complications in his private life, he was always professional when it came to dealing with Nash and good at hiding what was on his mind. For both his
and
Sandra’s benefit, he had to keep things to himself and act naturally.

“Bad news? Not at all.” He handed Nash the two discs. “I’ve sorted the footage from last night and it’s all good. No fight on screen. The other one’s what you wanted me to do for the party tonight. I think you’ll like it.”

Riley frowned at Purvis, unsure what he was talking about. Purvis winked, as if to say,
don’t worry, you’ll find out later.

“Excellent, thanks.” Nash then turned to Riley. “You’re not going to bring me down on my eldest’s twenty-first birthday, are you?”

Your
only
child’s twenty-first
, Riley thought, but said, “Only if you don’t like money.” He placed the envelopes on the table along with the necessary paperwork. “Everyone paid up - apart from Moore.”

“I thought he’d be a problem,” Nash said. “So...?”

Riley tossed him the car keys and placed the log book on the desk. “Maybe a last minute addition to Michael junior’s presents. Nice little Nissan.”

“My son can do better than a Nissan,” Nash said studying the keys and Riley felt like punching him.
Flash fucker.
“I’ll get one of the lads to get shot of it down the auctions.” He then looked in Terry Simpson’s envelope. Raised an eyebrow. “How did the old boy come up with this lot?”

Riley shrugged, feigning innocence. “At least he paid, right?”

“What charges did you hit him with?”

Riley paused. Prepared himself. Then said, “None. I told him the debt had been repaid.”

Nash sat back in his seat and placed his hands in his lap. He gave Riley the eye of the tiger, his face not giving anything away. Nash was notoriously hard to read. At times you didn’t know if he was about to hug you or kill you.

“And you’re making those kind of decisions now, are you?”

Riley cleared his throat and guessed he was about to be killed. He wasn’t scared of Nash as a person. If it was a one on one fight Riley knew he would get the better of the other man. But Nash was the boss and Riley had worked for him long enough so that in a way he’d become institutionalised. What Nash said went. When he asked you to do something, you did it. Even though Riley had become more than a little disillusioned with life recently, it was hard to fully break from the shackles of gangland life. It wasn’t like he could hand his notice in and move on to another job. No, he was stuck in his position and he knew it. Playing along was the only thing he could do for now.

When he next spoke, the words came out quickly and confidently. And so they should. He had rehearsed them on the way here, after all.

“Simpson had nothing left in his house to take or sell. He has no car and no job. He’d managed to borrow the money from some family member in Liverpool to pay off what he owed. Plus” - this was the part of the lie that had to be good - “he’s due into hospital next week for an operation. Something to do with his heart. He didn’t look too well when we called on him. Anyway, I thought with this final payment you would’ve made a good profit already and under the circumstances decided to call an end to the loan. I figured if he’s ill he might drop down dead on us if we call on him in future or when he goes into hospital he might mention the debt to one of the doctors and then they might report it to the police or the newspapers and your name would be dragged though the mud. In the end I assumed no potential hassle would be best for you.”

There was silence for a few seconds as Nash looked in the envelope again.

Riley looked at Purvis.

Purvis winked again, this time saying,
Good speech!

Riley wasn’t sure.

Then Nash put the envelopes containing the cash in his bottom drawer, as if it was nothing more than loose change – which to him it was. He didn’t need the loan sharking racket as he made enough money elsewhere, both legally and illegally. But loan sharking was his first love, the way he’d started out. Plus if he quit then someone else would move in to take his place. If there were any money making opportunities in Thirnbridge, then Nash not only wanted in, he wanted in at the top. That’s how people like him became so powerful. They had their fingers in as many pies as possible and would break other people’s fingers if they even reached for a piece of the crust.

“Good call,” he said and took a couple of puffs off his cigar. “That’s why I like you, Riley, you think ahead. I agree less hassle is best. Well done.”

Maybe a year ago those words would have filled Riley’s heart with pride, like when he got a star against his work back at school. But that was before everything had happened. Before DI Thornton. Before the boy.

Before Riley changed.

Nash slapped his hands down on the desk. Stared at both men in turn. “So, I’ll see you two tonight then, at the party.”

Riley nodded and turned to leave but stopped when he heard Purvis say, “I’ve got nowhere to go and I’m already dressed so I thought I’d hang on here. Is there nothing you want me to do?”

“Not unless you want to help the girl’s hang balloons and stuff,” Nash said, looking back at the paperwork on his desk.

Riley knew that’s exactly what his friend wanted. Any excuse to spend time with Sandra and Wendy.

“What the hell,” Purvis said, casually. “They’ll probably need a bloke to keep them in order. You know what women are like.

“Why do you think I’m in here?” Nash laughed, the sound coming out in a bellowing roar as his teeth squeezed down on the cigar.

You’re in here because you don’t really love Sandra and Wendy
, Riley thought as he and Purvis left the room, both laughing along with Nash like the pair of arse-kissers they had to pretend to be.

“That wasn’t obvious, was it?” Purvis whispered as they made their way back along the corridor.

“You may as well have pulled out a paternity test,” Riley joked. A second later, they were back on the dance-floor, shaking hands. “See you tonight.”

“Yeah,” Purvis said. “I’ll save you a seat.”

“Just make sure it’s not next to Howden. I’ve had enough of him today.”

With that, Riley headed out to his car as Purvis made his way over to Sandra, with Wendy running at him shouting, “Uncky Dywan, Uncky Dywan!” as she always did, excited and happy to see him, as if she knew the truth.

And for a little while at least, they could pretend they were a proper family.

8

Riley was greeted by the usual silence as he opened his front door.

His apartment was on the top floor of the building. Expensive, spacious and in a decent area, it would make a perfect family home yet he shared it with no one. He no longer missed the company of others nor did he yearn for it. Perhaps it was cowardice, but he preferred to distance himself from as many people as possible rather than risk potential hurt by growing close and maybe losing them. Therefore there was no lady in his life. There had been in the past, many years ago, but not recently. He had the pick of one night stands at work to satisfy any sexual craving but as for a relationship, he had no interest. The same went for children. Sure, he could provide a decent life for them and would love and protect them until his dying day, but what kind of a father could he ever hope to be working the job he did and mixing with the people he had to mix with? No, he was better off alone. That’s how he saw it, anyway.

He hung up his leather jacket, kicked off his shoes and headed straight into the bathroom where he stripped from the rest of his clothes. He then climbed into the shower and let the water wash over his body, cooling and cleansing him in equal measure, and he stayed under the jets for a good twenty minutes before having to force himself out.

As he worked the towel over his body he ignored the many scars crisscrossing his skin and as usual was thankful that the worse ones were on his back where he couldn’t see them and wouldn’t be reminded of the many operations and skin grafts he’d had as a both a child and young adult. He did, however, pay attention to the newer wounds; the cuts and bruises that occurred on a daily basis. He didn’t know where half of them came from.

The bruise on his inner thigh was healing. The scab on his right shin was just about ready to fall off and the new skin underneath looked shiny and healthy. The scratches on the outside of his left bicep (the result of a grappling match with some bloke high on drugs last Thursday night) were fading. He took care of the new cut on his right hand with a dab of antiseptic cream. Once the dried blood had been washed away he could see just how small the wound was – just a tooth mark - but he couldn’t be too careful. Who knew what germs that nephew carried in his mouth? Germs were his biggest danger. Infection was his arch-nemesis and he’d learned long ago that a small or hidden wound could prove dangerous if left untreated. Usually the first sign that something was wrong with the human body was pain, but Riley could only rely upon what he saw, that’s why he had to inspect himself every night before bed.

He wrapped the towel around his waist and crossed the landing into the largest of the two bedrooms.

Once the blinds were closed and the room was in total darkness, he lay on top of the bed and closed his eyes. He’d have to leave in half an hour or so. Half an hour before he had to put on an act and pretend he enjoyed the company he kept. Except for Purvis. He wasn’t like the others and despite what had gone on between Sandra and himself he was a good man deep down, dragged into his profession by fate rather than a lust for power and a thirst for violence.

And despite the years of violence and numerous casualties at the hands of the firm, Riley liked to think that he was the same.

He tried to clear his mind and relax but as usual there was always too much going on, too many thoughts and memories swirling around. And, at the forefront of those thoughts and memories there was the face of a small child, the image ripped from a newspaper photograph he’d seen for the first time six months ago.

A boy. Eighteen months old. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. He was smiling up at the camera from his pushchair, holding what may well have been his very first ice-cream on a warm summer’s day.
His name was Jamie Hudson.

Had been
Jamie Hudson...

Riley rolled onto his side and put both hands up to his face. The boy’s innocent smile lingered in his mind’s eye, haunting him.

It was at times like this that he wished his mind could be as numb as his body.