A Shot In The Night (John Harper Series Book 2) (4 page)

Turning
slowly I kept my hands noticeably open and away from my body, not wishing to
provoke any sort of action.  Before me were two young men, wearing dark
coloured tracksuits and menacing looks that set me on edge.  Months ago I would
have flashed my badge and told them to piss off and to be honest I nearly did
that anyway but decided against it.  I instead but on my best impression of
scared ad answered, “I-i-i-i don’t want any trouble, guys.”

Neither
man looked like they could start shaving and I began rounding down their ages
the more I looked at them.  The shorter of the two, an oily looking olive
skinned teenager with black bogbrush consistency to his hair spoke first, “What
you doin’ down there?  You some sort of nonce?”

“Yeah,
you some sort of kiddy fiddler?” his sidekick continued.  This one was a good
three inches taller than my own six foot two stature and was carrying a bit of
extra weight.  He had a baseball cap on and a hood over that, which cast a
shadow over his very pale features.

“No,
I’m a journalist,” I replied as demurely as possible.

“If
you’re a journo, what doing over here?  You should be over at Antwhiler Street
where Brad and Stevie bought it last night,” the larger one questioned.  He had
a good point but I had a good answer.

“I’m
doing some research on the first shooting.  Trying to get the full story since
I don’t think it has been reported properly.”

“Damn
right; those papers print outright lies.  Not that you get one of them in the
newsies around here, we don’t buy the scum,” the shorter one said with a strong
vehemence in his voice.

I
knew all too well that some shops refused to stock a certain newspaper in
Liverpool after allegations that were proven to be complete fabrication by lazy
and inept police officers and journalists at the Hillsborough football
disaster.  So I nodded and answered, “I don’t work for them, I work freelance
and someone I know at a rather famous magazine wants a story on the gangs of
Liverpool.  Since I live close by and they were offering good money I thought
I’d come down and do a piece.”

The
two of them looked at each other and I realised that maybe I was being too
subtle with them, especially since I wasn’t willing to give up any names.  I
decided to carry on, to try and convince them of my lie, “I was going to go to
Toxteth or Croxteth and speak to one of the dangerous gangs but since there had
been a shooting around here I thought I would come here first.”

“What
do you mean dangerous gangs?  The Warriors are harder than anyone,” the shorter
one asked bitterly.

“Yeah,
we’re just as deadly as the Nogsy or Crocky lot.  Just look at the news, you
don’t see them dropping any bodies do ya?  We’re the lot you need to speak to,”
Tall Boy proudly exclaimed.

“So
you’re saying that you two are in the Elsworth Warriors?” I continued my
questioning in the role of journalist.

They
looked at each other but turned to me, Shorty deciding it best to speak for the
two of them, “Could be.”

I
hid a smile at their excellent subterfuge, “Well gentlemen, would you mind
giving me a statement or two.”

“We
aint givin’ you ah names mate, no way,” Tall Boy quickly stated putting his
hand up.

“No,
you don’t to give your names just a few details on what life is like on the
streets and what happened here.”

Once
again they looked at each other and this time the taller one answered, “And
what’s in it for us?”

“You
would gain my eternal gratitude and put the Elsworth Warriors on the map of
course,” neither one budged at that so I sweetened the deal, “and how about
fifty quid and a cut of any royalties I get from reprints.”

The
two gang members haggled their way to forty pounds each; which I begrudgingly
paid because I didn’t really want to get beaten up for money and I could always
bill it to expenses.  To that end they took a strange delight in signing a
receipt for me and surprisingly not writing down lewd or ridiculous names.  In
fact the delicate and much pained way in which they wrote led me to the
conclusions that the names may have been real and the education system in
England was failing miserably.

Once
paid they proceeded to tell me all about how ‘hard’ they were and what the gang
was into, which was a rather repetitive twenty minutes.  The repeated stories
got more grandiose and the tales of gunfights sounded more likely to occur in
the Wild West.  Still, there would be kernels of truth in whatever they said. 
I discerned that they sold drugs and that getting hold of a gun wasn’t
difficult for them.  Much like any job they had their bosses but only referred
to them by the first names of Josh and Kai which made further investigation a
little more difficult.  In a lot of the stories however the same name kept
cropping up of Big Saul.

This
Saul fellow seemed to be something of a kingpin and idol to these people; his
early exploits sounding preposterous but said with the conviction of a story
that had passed into urban legend.  I however wasn’t interested in any of that
since it didn’t really pertain to Tom Morrison in any way I could discern.  I
wrote the name down though, in case it became useful later and decided I might
as well have Harris do some work tracking him down for me.

Finally
they got around to talking about the shootings.  The tall one who had revealed
his name to be Dom was speaking as we sat on one of the park benches, “Brad and
Stevie were good lads they didn’t deserve to get punked like that.”

“What
about the Boulton lad?”

“Bastard
deserved it,” Alex the other gang member said, “you don’t come onto ah patch
and try and play us like that.  He got what was coming to him.”

“No
doubt,” Dom reiterated slapping his friend’s hand.

For
the umpteenth time during the conversation I did my best not to roll my eyes, “So
this Morrison kid did a good thing then, shooting him like that?”

Alex
puffed out his rather scrawny chest, “He did what any Warrior would do.  We
can’t have people moving on ah turf.”

I
just nodded along with them, “Morrison must have been a pretty decent shot to
kill him like that.  Were you two here that night?”

“We
got here soon after the shots but we scarpered before the busies arrived.  
They’d lock up any of us and try and pin it on ya,” Dom said, their distrust of
the police a running theme during the discussion.

“What
did you see?”

They
went through their usual routine of looking at each other before answering
certain questions that pertained to the gang.  I noticed the slight nod between
them before Alex answered, “We didn’t see much just the Rakspeath scumbag on
the floor.  We heard the shots and got down here to help out Frankie.  He was
the one that Boulton shot and was in a pretty bad way when we got here.  There
was a lot of blood and we tried to get it sorted out for him but we couldn’t
get the usual guy to work on it.  Luckily we found someone who was willing to
stitch him up.”

“Did
you see Morrison then?”

“No,
he wasn’t there when we arrived.”

“And
he was definitely the shooter?” I really wanted them to answer if he was a good
shot or not.

This
time when they looked at each other there was doubt on both faces and when Dom
answered his head was bowed, “Tom’s admitted it, they’ve got nothing other than
that so hopefully something will happen and he gets out.  Other than that he
knows what he is doing makes things easier for us.”

“What
do you mean by that?”

“If
they don’t find a shooter, especially if it’s a young kid who gets it, Matrix
comes down hard on all of us.  Busies busting down doors and stopping people in
the streets.  Tom by copping to it keeps them all quiet.  Takes a couple of
weeks maybe a month but they don’t bang down our door anymore,” Alex explained
to me.

“Could
someone else have pulled that trigger?  I mean that shot seems pretty good from
distance in the back of the head.”

Alex
shifted uncomfortably under my gaze as he was sat directly opposite me, “I
suppose someone else could’ve killed him.”

Dom
looked shocked his friend had said that but he didn’t argue that it wasn’t true
instead he nodded and said, “Everyone in the Warriors knows where to get a gun
and when to use it.  No one is coming into Elsworth looking to cause trouble
and getting away with it.”

“But
it was a pretty impressive shot to hit him from distance.”

I
wasn’t expecting Alex laughing at that, “You think that’s good, you should see
my kills on COD.”

Dom
started laughing as well and they started bumping into each other.  I smiled at
them and nodded, I knew they were talking about a video game so I just let them
get their childish side out.  It did however last longer than I thought
possible, which led me to speak first, “I take it you guys don’t go for the
sneaky execution shots?”

“Nah
man, you want some difficulty like with the Boulton shot.  Those scumbags from
Raky don’t have any honour like that, they shot our boys like they were dogs. 
There’s a time and a place for kills like that and they knew their boy stepped
over the line and anything that happened to him was fair,” Dom continued.

“Sounds
like you guys are surprised they came over here from Rakspeath.”

Both
men nodded, Alex spoke first, “You can’t know what they’d do; they’re all dogs.”

“Rapists
and scum, they should’ve backed down.  Things are gonna get worse for them and
they’ll say it was our fault but they started this.  Three of our guys have
been shot to the one of theirs.  Payback is on its way,” Dom said with an eerie
finality.

Sitting
in my car I was optimistic about clearing Thomas Morrison before the end of the
week.  I had finished jotting down notes that I didn’t feel comfortable writing
in front of Dom and Alex and put their contact numbers next to their names for
future reference.  The enticement of money had given me two very willing
contacts but of what use they could be to me at that moment I couldn’t think.

No,
I had a much more important individual to call and I drove out of Elsworth till
I felt a little more secure.  I drove to a fast food car park and took out my
phone and scrolled through the numbers.  The man I intended to call was the
Major Richard Higgins retired; a man I had known for a number of years and I
must admit one of the most intimidating figures I had ever met.  Not that he
was aggressive or off putting with me, no he was a very kind and interesting
man.  It was just that I, like most men who have ever had the good fortune to
be introduced to him, felt inadequate.

Richard
Higgins had served with distinction in Her Majesty’s armed forces as an
infantry officer, working his way up the ranks from squaddie to Major.  He
could have started at Sandhurst such was his upbringing but he decided against
it, wanting to see some of the world.  After finishing his commission he
decided to continue his travels and returned to England to take up a position
at one of the most respected universities to study Middle Eastern history and
then afterwards economics and politics.  I’d not spoken to him in some time,
probably over two years, but he had been busy; recently he had sent me three
new books he had written, as he always did with his latest works.

He
was intelligent, well travelled, multilingual, athletic and connected, which I
suppose made him an excellent person to know but he had two flaws that made me
question making the call to him.  Those imperfections were hardly fair and from
another set of eyes they most definitely would be regarded as signs of
perfection.  You see Richard was devilishly handsome and possessed a remarkable
amount of charisma.  He was one of those friends that you didn’t want to
introduce to your wife, girlfriend or anyone you knew of the female gender.  In
comparison you always looked the lesser man, hell I wouldn’t introduce him to
male friends because he could make everyone in that room feel about a foot
tall.

The
reluctance I had in calling him was however offset by the feeling that I could
solve the case and get paid.  Higgins was my man for all things firearms and I
knew he would be willing to help me, that being another one of his flaws, an
actual interest in people.  Calling the number, I sat back and closed my eyes
as the phone rang.

“Hello
Richard Higgins speaking, how may I help you?” his voice was warm and
accommodating and I found myself trying to hate him despite it.  The man was
just too charming and it rubbed me the wrong way after years of being treated
like crap.

“Rich
it’s John Harper.”

“Harpsichord
old fellow how are you?  Long time no speak.  Sorry I didn’t recognise the
number, new phone and all, you know how it is.”

I
caught myself smiling at the nickname he had given me and then shook my head, “I’m
fine Rich, just muddling on.  How are things with you?  I’m surprised I’ve managed
to catch you in this country.”

“Oh
I’m back in Blighty for the foreseeable future.  Got some work over here
consulting, so it is a rarity I leave now.”

“You
never would tell me what you do.”

He
laughed down the phone at me, “John I’m a consultant, I consultant on things. 
Oh by the way; congratulations on solving those murders in Hollingswood.  I
read it online the other month when they finally found that poor girl’s body in
the tunnels, all round top job.”

“It
was nothing mate, just doing what they paid me for, Rich.”

“I
take it from that statement that you have finally left the police force.”

I
wasn’t surprised he picked up on that throw away comment and wanted to kick
myself for not stopping myself, “Yeah, finally time to get out on my own.”

“That’s
brilliant news my friend, you know all too well that I’ve been trying to get
you in my game for years.  If you want I can put you in touch with a number of
people and we can get you doing some private security work right away.”

“And
you know, Rich, that I wouldn’t call you to help me get a job.  I’ve only left
recently and can make do at the moment.  No, I was ringing because I need some
of that expert knowledge of yours.”

“You
make me sound like some sort of search engine, John.  I am, however, your humble
servant and will do my best to help you in any way I can.”

See,
there was no way to hate the guy; he was just so accommodating, “Right well
there has been a shooting in Liverpool and I was wondering if you could help me
run down some leads I have.”

“Liverpool,
you say.  Is it something to do with those gang shootings?  You don’t want to
be getting mixed up in any of that stuff, it’s bad news.”

“Unfortunately
I’ve got a debt to pay to an old friend which means I’ve got to get involved.”

“So
what do you need?”

“Just
some info on shooters and gunmen.  I want to know the likelihood that a street
punk can pull of a head shot with a replica gun made to fire live ammunition. 
I don’t know the exact range but you’re looking at fifty yards plus.”

“How
do you know it was a replica?”

“I
don’t at the moment but I wanted to start from the most difficult premise
first.  Obviously the shoot could have used a better gun but I’d doubt that
they would spend a fortune on a weapon since they are traceable.”

“Well
then I can answer all of the questions unless they had a specialist hunting
pistol I doubt that someone could have made that shot with that accuracy to
kill a man.  Obviously that would be a relatively easy shot for a rifle.”

I
nodded to myself pleased that my weapons expert had come to the same conclusion
as I had, “Thanks Richard, I just wanted that cleared up.”

“No
worries at all my friend, in fact I think I can help you out further.  If
you’re still in Liverpool tomorrow, I’ll pick you up and we can do a little more
investigating.”

When
someone offers you help like that generally the first thing you do is jump at
the chance, and I’m not one to draw out an investigation for monetary means but
an evening in the company of Richard Higgins was not something I really wanted
to do, “So you’re in the area?”

“I
can be, don’t worry John, it will be fun, I’ll ring you tomorrow to sort out
times.  See you soon, John.”

Before
I could even speak he had hung up and I was left cursing the good fortune of
knowing such a man.