Authors: Simon Leigh
Out of Promises (24 page)
Bill’s apartment complex was in an upscale and rich part of town known as Lincoln Gardens.
As before, they parked the car a few blocks away and walked to his apartment, this time better equipped to deal with the bitterness.
It was clear to see that he was a fan of East Asian culture with pictures on the wall of Chinese writing and scenery. Books called ‘The History of Japan’, ‘The Chinese Revolution’, and ‘Karate for Beginners, Intermediates, and Experts’ were piled up on shelves above a rack of swords in the corner. The whole decor gave the place a warm feel, helped even more with a TV on the wall showing a burning fire. The kitchen spread out to the left, three bedrooms were lined up on the right and the bathroom was at the end of the hall.
‘Wow, Bill, how many clients do you have?’ asked Valerie. ‘Didn’t know you were into Karate.’
He smiled, he knew it was worth a lot, but Ada Trent’s house was more to his liking. ‘I do all right. Those books are just for decoration. Make yourselves at home.’
Lucy put her bags on the floor. ‘Thank you, Bill, for everything.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, taking her bags into a bedroom leaving them alone.
Valerie felt uneasy around Lucy with her guilt still there, hanging in the back of her mind.
‘It’s OK, I won’t bite,’ Lucy said. ‘I know Freddie was a friend of yours, he was a good man who just made the wrong decisions. If it wasn’t for what happened with Michael...’
‘You sure you’ll be all right at your parents?’ Bill asked, re-joining them.
‘Yeah they’ll take care of Chloe and me until it’s all sorted.’
‘Can I have their address in case I need to contact you?’
‘Erm, yeah sure.’ She took a pen and piece of paper from Bill’s oak coffee table and jotted down the address.
‘Thanks. Now who wants a drink?’
‘Wouldn’t mind,’ said Valerie.
‘Hard drink?’ he asked, pointing at a liquor cabinet in the corner. ‘Got plenty of alcohol.’
Lucy said, ‘I think I’ll head for bed, it’s been a long day.’
‘All right Lucy, see you in the morning,’ said Bill.
‘Thanks again.’ She left them and closed the door.
With a playful smile, he turned to Valerie. ‘Just you and me now, missy.’
She looked around at his colour scheme. ‘You know, red is the colour of anger?’
‘Is it?’ He stood up and poured some whisky into a couple of tumblers.
‘You trying to get me drunk?’
He handed her a glass. ‘Yes.’
‘Bill, come on. We still have a lot to do. Jackson could already be dead for all we know.’
He sipped his whisky and placed the glass on the table, taking hers from her hands and doing the same.
They looked at each other.
Bill said, ‘Red is also the colour of romance,’ and kissed her. She didn’t break free, part of her feeling guilty for putting her own feelings before Jackson, but she wanted it. She needed it.
She said, ‘I’d like to take a shower.’
He pointed along the hall to a door at the end. ‘Through there.’
She smiled and left him.
Bill waited for the bathroom door to close before walking into the bedroom and jumping onto his king size bed, gazing up at the white ceiling, waiting eagerly for his company to return.
Twenty minutes passed by.
She sure likes her showers.
Finally, the bedroom door opened and Valerie walked through wearing a blue bath towel and a smile.
Bill sat on the edge of the bed.
She dropped the towel to reveal her slim, athletic body, the only flaws being few battle scars across her stomach.
Putting his arms around her, he pulled her towards him and she pushed him onto his back, climbing on top and kissing him on the lips. Her soft breasts fit perfectly in his hands.
‘You sure you want to do this?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Now shut up,’ she said and kissed him again.
The sky was dark. The winter daylight had disappeared and the moon was shining big and bright, hovering above the city lights.
Freddie glanced beyond Matherson and out through the office window at those very lights, a spectacular sight from the twelfth floor of Hellman’s Business Centre.
‘I have a job for you,’ said Matherson.
‘A job?’
‘There’s a man, Richard Turner. We have proof he’s the one stealing our shipments. I need you to wipe him out. He’s been sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong.’ He passed Freddie a piece of paper. ‘This is his address. My sources tell me he’s home alone tonight.’
‘Sir, why haven’t we done anything before?’
‘Just take him out. You don’t need to know the details.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Send Valerie in.’
Freddie left the office and a second later, a tired Valerie walked in approaching the desk for her orders. It wasn’t late, but she hadn’t slept much lately with dark nights making the day seem later than it was.
‘I want you to follow Freddie and report back to me if anything happens, understand?’
‘I understand,’ she said, more to keep the peace than anything.
‘I know you two are friends. But Freddie cannot be trusted. That business with his son has changed him. Being a father, I can sympathize. But I can see it affecting him in ways that would put us all in danger. Slowly but surely things have taken their toll. He’s not the man he should have grown up to be.’
Of course it changed him, his son is dead.
‘Plus the Han Wong job,’ he continued. ‘That went wrong too, luckily it didn’t get worse. You see what I mean?’
She nodded.
‘All I’m saying is don’t trust him and if the time comes, I want you to make sure you follow orders.’
‘Yes, Mr Matherson.’
‘Now go.’
Matherson had always liked large vehicles – ‘A strong car shows a strong business’ being one of his favourite sayings.
Freddie had chosen a silver SUV and was driving it at speed away from the area he hated most, desperate to get the job finished so he could turn his attention on finding Michael’s murderer.
After this job, I’m finished. I’ve given Matherson everything. My son. My life. Everything.
In an attempt to take his mind from Michael for now, he turned on the radio.
The local news came first: ‘Police experts fear the rising crime rates will continue into the future.’
Boring.
The next station was sports, then more news after that. He flicked through seven more stations until he found some music: a slow, chilled out mix that he liked, the uplifting melody relaxing him.
Two cars behind, Valerie followed, fighting to keep up in an old, beat up sedan. Matherson’s idea of a strong car hadn’t paid off with this one, but it was the first one she found in the lot and she was in a hurry.
‘Freddie, will you just slow down,’ she said out loud.
She followed him for a good hour passing the same buildings more than once, speeding up and slowing down like he was debating a difficult decision.
Does he know I’m following?
After many close calls and Valerie’s gas tank diminishing, Freddie slowed to a crawl on a quiet neighbourhood street, stopping on the road and blocking the driveway of a lone house, just as Matherson had always told them to do.
Valerie stopped in the shadows, not too close, but far enough away to see him clearly.
The night air was cold with a slight breeze gently brushing against him, silently stirring the fallen leaves at his feet. He looked up at the modest house, subtly painted the same as the rest with the same identical gardens, almost like it was trying too hard to fit in. It reminded Freddie of his own house with Michael, Chloe, and Lucy – the house he would never see again.
Blinds blocked any visibility through the front window which he figured to be the living room and a ‘beware of the dog’ sign was sticking out of a soil patch where the driveway met the sidewalk.
Matherson didn’t mention a damn dog.
Looking over his shoulder with every second step, he headed up the driveway with one hand on his weapon, nervous, and hoping the dog mentioned wouldn’t be there. He hated dogs, especially trained guard dogs. He recalled a time during an extortion job when the owner set one on him, still feeling the teeth as they bore deep into his arm and the spray of blood as a bullet pierced the dog’s head, shot by his partner.
He shuddered, turning his attention to a large wooden gate to the right of the house swaying in the wind with a garage beyond.
Peering through the gap in the centre, he watched a light come on above the side entrance. A man, tall with long hair, walked out carrying a garbage bag. Inside the house, the dog barked before running out and sniffing around – a German Shepherd.
Freddie ducked behind the gate, sensing the dog merely inches away, an onset of sweat dampening his brow in the cold, certain he’d be caught. But the dog was pulled back by the man and taken into the house.
‘Shit,’ he whispered.
Fucking dogs.
He was angry now, not knowing if that person was his target, and missing the best opportunity to find out. He had to be more certain. Stories of mistaken identity were rife in this business with innocents being taken out more often than anyone cared to admit. There were also too many unknowns. Was the house empty? Was his target armed? Was it a trap?
What kind of job doesn’t have come with pic of the target?
The layout of the house wasn't given to him either. He was going in blind.
When the door closed, the light went out and the place fell into darkness once again.
Fucking dogs.
He’d seen the front, nothing to worry about there, so now the back.
The gate screeched as he pushed it along the ground, the noise drowned out by the wind.
Passing the door and light without fail, he reached the garage and looked out at the huge rear garden, eighty feet long and thirty wide. There were cabbage patches and other vegetables sprouting along a path to a tool shed.
The house held French doors to the dining room, quiet with a large table and eight chairs in front of a china cabinet full of various antiques and heirlooms. The kitchen was to the left, which is where the side door fed. A light shone on the second floor.
Probably the bathroom.
Satisfied nobody else was in the house, he put on his gloves and tried the handle to the dining room doors.
Locked.
Shit.
The kitchen door must be unlocked, he figured. If not, then a knock on the door and a bullet through the head was in order, drawing attention from the neighbours and sending the dog crazy.
I could shoot the dog first.
At the kitchen door, he pressed the door handle and the door opened freely.
No trap and no sign of the dog.
He went in.
Once he was inside, he pushed the door closed without letting it click, leaving it ajar for an easy escape later.
To deal with the dog, he grabbed a knife from a block on the kitchen counter. If it came pouncing, a knife is faster than a gun.
To the left of the kitchen was another door which he opened a crack, showing him a darkened hallway leading to the front door and staircase to the left. There were two more doors on the right: one, the living room and the other, the dining room. A faint light shone from under the one on the left of the two – where he figured Richard was, with his dog. Freddie had to find a way to separate them, so he tried to think of a distraction.
Turning around, he opened the kitchen door fully and treaded carefully into the dining room to wait.
What seemed like hours were only minutes.
I’m just going to have to go in there and shoot them both.
A draft wafted through the house slamming the door joining the kitchen and the hallway. Seconds later, the living room door burst open and the dog ran out followed by Richard.
Now was his chance. Freddie crept out of the dining room and hid behind the living room door, listening to Richard lock the kitchen door.
‘Fucking door,’ he heard.
Moments later, Richard moved back into the living room like anybody would in their own home and Freddie slammed the door behind him, blocking the dog and holding his weapon to Richard’s head.
‘Richard Turner?’ he asked, squeezing the trigger.
The dog barked in the hall.
‘Wait, please.’
He released the pressure on the trigger.
The man turned around, his long hair hanging over his face. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
Freddie swung his pistol into his face, knocking him down. ‘Are you Richard Turner!?’ he yelled.
‘Wait, please. Tell me your name!’
‘Shut up! Tell me yours!’ He hit him again.
Richard looked up at him, helpless. But Freddie had a job to do. He jammed the weapon into Richard’s face and squeezed the trigger.
In a final attempt to save his life, Richard said, ‘Freddie?’
‘What?’
‘Are you Freddie?’
He lowered the weapon.
‘Seventeen years ago. I was there,’ he said, breathing heavily.
‘What?’
The dog continued in the hall.
‘I was at Northbrook children’s home.’
Northbrook children’s home? He remembered that place clear as day. Doug, the photo album, the carers, all things he wanted to forget.
‘What do you mean you were there?’ He raised the weapon again. ‘Did you work there?’
‘No! I was sent in by Matherson afterwards.’
Freddie kept quiet.
‘My real name is Rodriguez. Look, can we please talk? In the dining room.’
‘Get up.’
The dog went quiet when he saw his owner and sniffed around the living room before settling down on a rug in front of the TV.
Freddie pulled out a chair and pushed Richard onto it, sitting opposite with the weapon raised. ‘You want to explain to me what the fuck you’re talking about?’
‘Seventeen years ago. You collapsed in Matherson’s parking lot. Afterwards, Matherson was furious. He sent four of us to torch the home, killing everyone inside.’
Freddie paused. What could he say to that?
‘He sent us there to kill everyone.’
‘Sent who?’
‘Preston, Nicky, Sharpe and myself.’
‘Nicky?’
‘I didn’t want to and regretted accepting. I still regret it in fact. We had the option to say no and I wish I’d taken it. But I also wanted to help those poor kids. In the end, though, it wasn’t worth it and all I got for my troubles was a scar.’
‘So what went wrong?’
‘When we were pouring the gasoline, a child woke up. I tried to protect him, killing Nicky in the process, but Preston and Sharpe overpowered me and tied me and the child to chairs before leaving us to burn in the fire. I can still remember the screams and the smell of burnt flesh.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Lying? Who do you think you are? Tell the boy who died in my arms I’m lying.’ He stood up, lifting his sweater to reveal the extent of his burns across his torso. ‘I was the lucky one.’
Freddie looked at them.
‘Since then I’ve been living here. I’ve got people working for me.’
‘Working for you?’
‘Uh huh. But for the good. I have strong contacts from my smuggling days and loyal people. I know about the shipment Matherson has coming in too.’
Freddie watched him.
‘It was my men who took Matherson’s last shipment.’
‘Why are you doing this? We don’t need a vigilante roaming the city. There’s enough shit on the streets.’
‘I just want Matherson and Preston off the streets. This is personal to me. I’m no vigilante. I just want revenge.’
‘What does Preston have to do with this? He’s dead. I killed him.’
‘You didn’t kill him. You paralyzed him, but he’s alive. He saved a boy from the children’s home and raised him as his own little slave. He named him Cyrus and he’s the one who saved Preston after you dropped him from the window, right before he shot Wong.’
‘I always assumed Wong shot himself. He was off his face on drugs most of the time.’
‘No, he didn’t. And you’re lucky you did what you did because I hear Preston wanted to wipe you out that night too.’ He grabbed Freddie’s arm and pleaded with him, ‘You should get out when you can Freddie. You’re not safe.’
Nobody is safe.
Freddie said, ‘This job has cost me my family. I need to know who killed Michael. I need to.’
‘All right, you need to listen to me, Freddie, and you need to listen good. It’s about Michael.’
Freddie’s eyes widened. ‘What about him?’