Consequence (14 page)

“Looks like the place for us,” Roach noted as he ran his fingers over the boarded-up windows, sketching a deep line in the thick dust.

Morris nodded. “Go back to the car,” he instructed. “We left the tools in the boot.”

Roach nodded and left the flat, leaving Morris to look around and admire the infested domicile. When he returned they both secured the door, fitting the three tumbler locks, the metal chain and a padlock.

They weren’t disturbed.

42

“Why tomorrow?” Roach asked, his question was directed at Darren Morris who stood over him with a remote control in his hand, half interested in finding a decent station and half speaking to his colleague.

The bed and breakfast had filled up since their return, the other rooms were preparing for occupation by a large family who waited in the reception area sporting fresh faces and holiday attire. They had all greeted the hitmen with welcome voices, none of which had been returned.

“The sooner we get this done the better,” Morris replied placidly, concentrating on finding something on the television that could alleviate his boredom and settle the nervous excitement that buzzed through him.

“We need more time,” Roach pleaded in a tone that suggested no matter what he said, it would be overturned.

“Time is not an issue here. It’s a simple snatch.”

“There are more issues to cover then the snatch itself. We need to sort out ransom demands. Pickups etcetera.”

“Like I said James. It’s all common sense. We make the snatch, head to the safe house--”

“It aint much of a safe house though is it?”

“Why not? It’s deserted. We aren’t renting it so there’s no paper work and we’ve secured it. We just take the girl, dump her there, keep the noise down and the lights out, and keep an eye on her. Although I’m sure we can handle a bunch of squatters and druggies if it comes down to that.”

Roach frowned at the answer, but shrugged it off.

Morris dropped the remote control in boredom: leaving the television on a local news station.

“Why are you so uptight about the idea all of a sudden anyway?” he wanted to know. “I thought you were up for it.”

“I am, in a way. I’m just a little unsure about it. This is big for us; this could bring in a lot of money, enough for us to retire.”

“Exactly, so what’s the problem?”

“That
is
the problem,” Roach stated. “It seems far too easy. We’ve been killing for years and getting away with it -- yet we’ve hardly made a fortune from it have we? But if we pull this off, which would be far easier than many jobs we’ve done in the past, we’ll be set for life.”

“Stop worrying.”

“I’m not, it just seems a little...” Roach paused, lost for words.

“Easy. I know, and that’s exactly what it is. Come next week we’ll have enough money to stop working for that fucking prick Sanders and start
living
for once,” Morris declared with excitement.

Both men stopped mid-conversation and turned their heads towards the television screen as familiar words were spoken by the news broadcaster.

“Police say the incident on Walker Street yesterday could very well be gang related”
the news prompter spoke over a camera angle that had been focused on Wayne Pearce’s house.
“The murder is thought to have occurred around mid-afternoon. Mr Peace, a popular figure with police and a well-known drug addict, was brutally beaten to death in his home.”

The camera zoomed in closer, the area was surrounded by forensic teams and a swarm of police officers and detectives,
“our reporters haven’t been allowed access to the scene but a local resident who found the massacred body gave this horrific statement.”

The camera cut to recorded footage. In front of the lens stood a middle aged, scrawny man, his eyes and face a portrait of substance abuse.
“The door was open,”
he explained to the cameras.
“So I just walked straight in, when I got there I got this ‘orrible smell. It was sick, like something you couldn’t imagine, really ‘orrible”
he droned on.
“It nearly blinded me it did; I was so shocked by it. But when I opened my eyes I seen Wayne -- lying there all twisted and stuff. He was covered in blood; it looked like his head had been caved in. Then I noticed the cuts--”
he man paused, seemingly shocked by the recollections.
“He was a mess,”
he concluded.

“So far the police have one suspect in custody”
the news reporter said as the screen offered up a photo ID of Wayne Pearce, in all his drugged glory. “
A young girl who has yet to be named but is believed to live in the area.
”

The camera flashed to another interview, this time with a police detective, he read from a prewritten document, his eyes occasionally lifting to the camera. “
Mr Pearce is a well-known addict and suspected drug dealer,
” the nervous officer began. “
Many drugs -- clearly intended for sale -- were found on his premises, including a collection of banned substances found on his person. Due to his record and the severity of the crime we are treating this as a gang related murder, and will be questioning known users in the area.
”

He paused to take a question from an unseen journalist, as the cameras flashed in his face.

“
What about the suspect?
” one journalist bellowed.

“
We have attained a young girl in custody who we believe may have been involved in the crime; that is all I can tell you at the moment,
” he replied firmly.

Darren Morris smiled at James Roach. “See,” he said. “We can get away with murder, why can’t we get away with a measly kidnapping?”

His smile was returned by James Roach who had been watching the report eagerly. They had seen similar events before; from here on they knew they were safe. A few druggies would be questioned, people would be arrested and released and then the case would grow cold.

They had escaped the hands of the law again.

“OK,” Roach said, still smiling. “Tomorrow it is.”

43

The dice spun and flipped its way across the cardboard mat, missing a stack of cards and landing near a silver hat.

“Three!” Lisa Price shouted in delight.

Howard Price sighed and moved a small iron three spaces across the board, it landed on a purple square marked
‘Mayfair
', the top of which had been decorated with a plastic hotel.

Price, sitting opposite his daughter on the plush living room floor, flicked through a stack of coloured money that lay by his side. He stabbed at it and flicked it away in mild distaste.

“Not enough,” he announced. “You win.”

Lisa smiled victoriously. She took the money from him and stacked it into piles she had already created; all neatly lined up in front of her, one stack for each denomination.

Howard rose to his feet. He had been sitting on the floor for the entire game, which had stretched past three hours and, as he stood, he felt the effects. His knees cracked awkwardly and he found himself groaning.

“I’m getting old,” he noted as he slumped on the sofa.

Elizabeth, sitting next to him, smiled in his direction and nodded slyly. He pushed her playfully on her shoulders.

“You’re not supposed to agree with me,” he said with a laugh, his hands holding his lower back.

“Nearly five thousand,” Lisa noted with delight, flicking through her paper money.

Howard nodded, impressed. He wasn’t one for letting his daughter win, he was very competitive no matter who he played, and the game of Monopoly had been no different. Even Elizabeth had been playing, until her money and assets had fallen to her daughter’s growing empire.

“Are you going to put it away?” Howard asked nicely.

She nodded pleasantly and began scooping up the mass of hotels, houses, money and playing cards. Howard watched her every move; she had a constant smile etched on her face.

She loved spending time with him as much as he loved spending time with her. When she had returned from school she had rushed to him, offering ideas for games and things to do together. Her friend had phoned up an hour after she returned, asking if she wanted to go outside and play, an offer which she had turned down so she could spend time with her father, much to his delight.

He didn’t typically get the chance to spend so much time with her due to his work obligations, so they both took advantage of the change.

They had played on her games console at first, until she tired of his lack of ability to use a control pad and decided upon a kick-about in the garden. After an hour or so of football they had come inside and played the board game, settling down as a family.

Now Lisa’s bedtime dawned, and she knew it, as did her mother.

“You’ll have to go to bed soon,” Elizabeth said as Lisa finished stacking the pieces in the box and replaced the cardboard lid. “It’s past nine and you have school in the morning.”

Lisa sighed and appealed to her dad with a puppy dog expression. He could offer no solace to her, so she turned back to her mother.

“Do I have to?” she said, her voice soft and manipulative.

Elizabeth exchanged stares with her daughter.

“I’ll tell you what,” she conceded. “You can watch some TV first.”

Lisa’s face lit up and within the blink of an eye she had jumped on the sofa, nestling in between her parents.

“But just a bit,” Elizabeth warned. “I’m shattered, I’ll be going to bed in ten minutes or so. She turned to Howard, “And don’t you go telling her that she can stay up late,” she warned.

Howard put his hands up defensively.

Elizabeth rose to her feet, “I’m going to make a cup of hot chocolate and then get ready for bed.” Turning to her husband she said: “Make sure she goes to bed before ten.”

Howard nodded, kissed his wife and then watched as she left the room.

Lisa turned to him, a pleading look in her eyes. He winked at her, bringing a smile to her face. She leant into him, cuddling him as he flicked through the television stations.

44

Darren Morris and James Roach sat in one of the two rented B&B rooms; Roach on the edge of the bed, Morris on a plush chair in the corner -- their attentions on the television. They had been flicking through a collection of DVDs downstairs -- bought by the owner and rented out to the guests -- and had picked up a copy of
The Dark Knight
. They had both seen it before but the rest of the DVD’s on offer were animated comedies, sixties romance flicks and a large collection of westerns.

Not a word had been exchanged between the pair for half an hour. They were both happy that way -- in silence, singularly contemplating the days ahead.

The silence broke when Darren’s mobile phone began to ring.

He pulled the small device out of his pocket. He could feel Roach’s eyes upon him and he returned the glare.

“It says unknown number,” he said with the phone still ringing in his hand.

“Sanders,” Roach said, somewhat alarmed.

Morris nodded.

“It’s after ten,” Roach declared. “We told him we’d be meeting up with Pearce’s dealer at seven. He’s going to be--”

“I know!” Morris snapped. “But it doesn’t concern us anymore.”

The phone continued to ring.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Roach questioned.

“And say what? ‘Sorry Sanders but we don’t wanna kill for you anymore because you’re a fat, lazy, underpaying twat. We’ve decide to branch out and do a bit of kidnapping?’”

“If you don’t answer he’s going to get suspicious.”

“He lives his life below the law, he’s always fucking suspicious.”

They sat in silence, listening to the incessant ringing.

“Just feed him some lies, it’s not like it’ll be the first time,” Roach offered.

Morris shook his head. The phone stopped ringing. He smiled and looked at Roach triumphantly.

“Problem solved,” he grinned.

Just as he stuffed the mobile phone back into his pocket it started to ring again.

The noise sent a chill through the room.

He stared at it momentarily, hesitant. Then he answered it, catching sight of the worried expression on Roach’s face as he did so.

“Hello,” he said, his voice clear.

“Darren!” Sanders didn’t seem pleased. “What the fuck is going on there?” he spat.

“What do you mean?”

“This shit with Wayne Pearce; you said you were meeting his dealer at seven. That was over three fucking hours ago! I told you to keep in touch.”

“We just finished,” Morris lied. He looked at Roach who gleamed back wearily. “The guy was pissing us about,” he continued.

“What did you get from him?” Sanders bellowed.

“Fuck all, he knows nothing more than Pearce did.”

“But you got links, suppliers, leads, right?”

“We got nothing. He says his pills get left at drop points for him. His dealer phones him, tells him when they’ve received a shipment and gives him a point to pick up the drugs. That’s all he could tell us. The supplier uses an untraceable line when he contacts him, and the dumps are random and there’s never anyone else there.” The lies were rolling off his tongue with great ease.

“Fuck!” Sanders screamed. “Where is this guy now?”

“Dead,” Morris said blankly. “We got all we needed from him.”

The line fell silent. Morris could practically feel his boss’s anger coursing down the phone.

“It just so happens I have a few other boys on the case,” Sanders announced with a deflated resignation. “And
they
haven’t gone cold yet. I’m very disappointed with you boys, I expect you won’t object to a pay cut, seen as you’ve
fucked
this job for me.”

Morris merely mumbled into the line and then it went dead. Sanders had hung up.

“Bastard,” he spat as he stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

“What?” Roach asked.

“He’s giving us a fucking pay cut. We do what he asks and he has the fucking nerve to cut our money short.”

“Does it matter?” Roach asked, smiling.

Morris shrugged his shoulders, also smiling. “No, it doesn’t. Fuck him.”