Holy Island Trilogy 02 - Nowhere Man (10 page)

‘He’s not in.’

Mike leaned over the bar. ‘Get him now,’ he snarled. ‘If you know what’s good for you.’

Boy George stepped back and, with a loud ‘Oh!’ disappeared through an open door in the middle of the bar.

A few minutes later he flounced back through the doorway. Closing the door behind him, he said with a huge smile, ‘I have to have a name, and if he doesn’t know you, you’re dead.’

‘Yeah, we’ll see about that. Tell him he ain’t getting a name and if he’s not out here in one minute,
he’s
fucking dead. And if you aren’t careful, you’ll be joining him.’

Boy George looked wide-eyed at him for a moment, then pursed his lips and blew Mike a kiss.

Mike reached out and, pretending to grab it, said, ‘Want this shoving up your fucking arse, or what? Better yet, I’ll shove it up Quinn’s arse, eh?’

Boy George let his hands drop to his hips, struck a pose and replied, ‘Oh well, I wouldn’t do that. Not if I were you.’

‘To hell with this.’ Mike moved round the bar. Lifting the flap, he said, as he reached the door, ‘I’ll tell him myself.’

‘Ooooh, you can’t do that!’ By now Boy George was hopping from foot to foot.

‘Watch me.’

Mike pushed him out of the way with one hand and pushed the door open with the other, knocking over a stack of glasses in the process.

He heard Boy George gasp in fear. Serves the daft sod right, Mike thought. Who the hell leaves stacks of glasses lying around? Mike found himself in a short corridor with a door at each end.  Knowing the one on the left led to the Gents, he turned to the right. Five steps and he was turning the handle.

Before he could step through the door, Boy George scuttled under his arm and said, his voice more high pitched than ever, ‘It wasn’t my fault, boss, he pushed his way in, he did honest, I never stood a chance.’

Quinn took one look at Mike and said, in a heavy smoker's voice with a slight hint of Irish, ‘It’s all right. Get out.’ He reached over to the radio and cut off Dolly Parton in the middle of 
Nine Till Five
. Nearly tripping over himself in his haste, Boy George got out.

Of medium build, Quinn had black hair and vivid blue eyes, eyes that were deceiving, eyes that were warm at first but could cut you down in seconds. His nose was flattened across his pock marked face, a remnant from his fighting days. Fighting was where Quinn had made his name, a name that struck fear into the hearts of many people - especially those who owed him money.

Looking at Mike, those eyes were calm. Mike had saved his skin, and so he was family.

‘I’m guessing this is not a social call. What I can do for you? Just name it.’

One thing about Quinn, Mike thought, he didn’t beat about the bush. That was the only thing Mike liked about him. If he’d known any other way to get what he wanted, he would have taken it rather than be standing here.

‘I want a gun.’ He hesitated for a moment, then went on, ‘No. Make that two.’

Quinn didn’t even raise his eyebrows. ‘OK, what sort? Hand guns, machine gun?’

‘Actually, make that three. Two handguns, one machine. And throw in a couple of knives for good measure. And plenty ammo.’

This did make Quinn raise his eyebrows. ‘You taking on the world, or what?’

‘Something like that.’

‘How about a couple of grenades while we’re at it?’ Quinn asked, only half joking.

Mike shrugged. Might come in handy, he thought. ‘Sure. Why not.’

Quinn studied Mike for a moment. ‘If you need help, you only have to say the word.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘OK, but the offer will stand for as long as you need it. Just give me a call. If you tell me the problem, you never know - I might be able to make it go away.’

Mike shook his head. ‘Doubt it.’

Seeing that he wasn’t going to get any more information, Quinn shrugged and picked up the phone. ‘How soon?’

‘Now.’

‘A miracle worker I’m not.’

Saying nothing, Mike stared him out.

Quinn spoke into the phone. ‘How soon can you get them here?’ He listened for a moment, before turning to Mike. ‘An hour, hour and a half?’

‘OK, guess that’ll have to do. How much?’

‘On the house.’

Not wanting to be beholden to Quinn for anything, Mike was adamant. ‘No way.’

‘I insist. That’s the only way the deal will go down.’

Mike ground his teeth. He was desperate, and Quinn knew it. ‘Right, I’ll be back in an hour or so. And I was never here, understand?’

‘Of course that goes without saying.’

‘Just so that you know.’ Mike stared at him for a moment, then spun round and walked out the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Deciding to pop over to Durham, Mike jumped into his car. He needed to sort things out with his neighbours regarding his flat, and grab some clothes. Then he would head south as soon as he’d picked up the guns from Wallsend.

He was thinking of Shelly, and what she had told him. It was starting to make more sense every time he thought of it. He wondered how many people had been murdered down the ages, just to keep the secret. And how deep into it all was Tony?

No way could he be in with them!

And if he was, how had he become involved? Tony, for all intents and purposes, was his brother - maybe not by blood, but by an even stronger bond. I know him inside out, it’s not his style to become involved with the bad guys. Has he somehow become indebted to them? If so, how? Why?

One thing though, that Shelly sure is one plucky kid. She made mincemeat outta that ugly fellow all right. Hope she’s safe, wherever she might be.

The drive took just under thirty minutes. Some days it could take over an hour or more. Using the Tyne Tunnel wouldn’t help, not at the moment anyhow, as they were building a long-awaited new one, and everything was down to one lane.

He pulled into the bottom of his street. Guess I’ve been lucky, he thought. God knows how long it’ll take to get back when the kids are out of school.

Am I in a hurry?

Well, whichever poor bastard is about to die at the hands of whatever fiend our lords and masters have dispatched, I guess they would say a very loud yes!

He’d had to park a few doors down the street from his flat, as the street was wall to wall cars. On a fine day in Durham, you grabbed a space where you could, unless you wanted to pay a fortune in car parking fees.

He’d tell the couple in the flat below that he’d be away for a few months, ask them to take the mail in, generally keep an eye on things. Not that there was ever any bother in this neck of the woods. Nice and quiet. Just how he liked it.

And they wouldn't take much asking, he thought with a wry smile as he locked the car. Gav would love the job of guardian. He was without doubt the nosiest person in the street-perhaps even the whole of the flaming North-and he was seconded only, by his lovely wife April.

He knocked on their door before going up to his flat. He frowned when there was no answer, and knocked again.

Strange, he thought. Gavin and April, in their fifties and both riddled with arthritis, hardly ever went out. In fact, on a warm day Gav was usually sat out in his wheel chair at the door on gossip alert. Shrugging, he moved to the window. Cupping his hands at the sides of his face to block the sun, he peered inside.

At first he could barely make anything out. Then what was in front of him began to make sense.

Stepping back, he gasped, the image flickering in his mind like some old black and white film. April and Gav, both naked, lay side by side on the floor, their twisted arthritic legs spread awkwardly. Both had been scourged. Ribbons of flesh were flung every which way, one ribbon intertwined in their clasped hands.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The short, muscular man camouflaged in brown trousers, dark green jacket and cap, had Mike in his sights. He’d known that his quarry would have to turn up here eventually. He’d actually turned up sooner than the man had expected. The trees the man was hiding in, across the street from the neat row of whitewashed houses, were perfect cover. Really, he thought, with a certain glee, I couldn’t have picked a better place for a kill.

His finger was ready to squeeze the trigger, the pressure slowly mounting, when an old woman in a red coat, bright yellow hat, and long strands of dirty grey hair hanging around her shoulders - walked in front of him.

For fuck's sake! he thought, raising the gun skywards. Get out of the friggin' way, you stupid old cow! 

But she stumbled, rolling from side to side like some small, brightly painted fishing boat on a rough sea.

‘Fucking move,’ he muttered, his frustration mounting. He never liked to make a secondary killing, it left far too many loose ends. Everything kept neat and tidy, that was his motto, always had been, always would be.

That’s the way of it.

In the circles he moved in, he was well known for his tidiness. Tidy was what his punters liked. No loose ends. Nothing to tie either him or them to the kill. Satisfaction doubly guaranteed-then on to the next one.

They had trained him well from birth, his masters, though he’d never met any of them face to face. From what he'd been told by others in the trade, that was the best way.

On the island where he’d grown up, he’d speculated once or twice on who they really were. A few whispered questions, and the answers he’d received had been more than enough to make him keep his head down and his mouth shut.

Oblivious to what was taking place just yards from him, and the possibility that he was only moments from death, Mike was leaning against the wall, staring at the old woman but barely seeing her, because of the tears in his eyes.

April and Gav, dead because of me. Two of the nicest people in the world!

Why?

A warning!

To stop. Before I even start.

How many more?

He blinked, and the tears dried. What the hell to do?

At that moment, filled with despair, he felt like giving up. Running off somewhere, hiding, getting a new identity, letting the world and everyone in it take care of themselves.

What can I do against scum that seem to know every move I make? Bastards!

‘No,’ he muttered. ‘Can’t just walk away from this.’

But no way can I report what’s happened here, it’ll keep me tied up for days. Give the bastards more time to bring others down, as well as me.

Who the fuck's next?

Surely somebody in the street's gotta be wondering where April and Gav are, for God's sake. Surprised it hasn’t been reported already. Someone must be wondering why Gav isn’t on his perch by the door.

Unless it’s just happened - which means the hit man could still be hanging around.

For a second, his heart leaped. No, the bodies look like they’ve been there at least a day or two. It probably happened right in the middle of their daytime TV.

He looked at the old woman in the bright clothes across the street. She’s drunk. He smiled briefly, but it was an automatic smile. Superimposed on his view of the woman was the memory of the flies buzzing around his neighbours' bodies.

I’ll phone it in from a phone box, anonymously. That way they won’t be able to link me in.

Shit! They’ll know I’ve been working on similar cases.

Oh, Jesus!

Mike sighed. The road just kept on getting steeper every corner he turned.

The assassin never felt the bullet enter the side of his neck. It was over in seconds. The bullet exploded in his windpipe, a neat kill by someone who was as meticulous as he was. His body crumpled slowly as he took his last breath, and hit the soft soil with a low thud, heard only by the old woman in the red coat. With a twitch of her lips in recognition of a job well done, she straightened up and went on her way.

At the top of the street, she was met by a young blonde woman. They spoke for a few minutes before a car, driven by a woman with a brown ponytail, pulled up and they both got in. The old woman sat in the back. She pulled off the yellow bullet-proof hat and straggly grey wig to reveal a much younger woman, a stunning brunette. She shook her hair loose as she shrugged out of the shapeless padded coat, which revealed her bullet-proof vest.

'Well done, Louise,’ said the ponytailed driver to the blonde woman in the front seat.

Very pleased that everything had gone according to plan, Louise nodded. ‘And you, Coral,’ she said over her shoulder.

‘We’ve been after that one for a good while. They’ll be well pleased back home.’ Coral's voice had a soft Scottish burr. She grinned as she rubbed her hands in satisfaction. ‘The world's a wee bit safer place now.’

The two in the front nodded. The driver, Ella, grinned at Coral. 'You can say that again. But please don’t.’

Unaware of the drama unfolding mere yards from him, Mike hurried down to his car. Once behind the wheel he took the road back to Wallsend, planning to phone the murders of April and Gav into the nearest station from there. After that, he was on his way. Nothing was going to stop him!

These freaks might think they’re above the law. But they are about to find out they ain’t above mine!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Brother David was staring at Smiler, and had been for quite a while. Smiler hadn’t moved in the last hour. After a sudden outburst of what sounded like pure gibberish, and repeatedly counting his fingers, he had been sitting ramrod straight and staring out the window.

Brother David sighed, knowing no way to help ease this child’s obviously tormented soul, and only guessing at the reasons for his neurotic behaviour. He could only pray for him. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head.

‘What the bloody----?’

Brother David’s eyes shot open. As if someone had suddenly flipped a switch, Smiler spun round. Both of them stared in awe as Aunt May struggled to sit up.

‘Don’t just bloody sit there, give me a hand,’ she demanded, glaring at them.

As Brother David jumped up to help her, Smiler hurried round to the other side of the bed and plumped her pillows up.

‘Thank you, Smiler.’

Easing back and resting her head, she looked at each of them in turn. ‘OK, who’s gonna fill me in here? And why have I got such a bloody headache?’