Souls At Zero (A Dark Psychological Thriller) (2 page)

"How about you go and fuck yourself, mate?" Speedy snarled, and for the first time Edger saw the extent of the acne on the kids face, no doubt exacerbated by his steroid use. With his round head, the term pizza-face came to mind. "I'm going to beat you to a fucking pulp."

Edger didn't move. He kept his awareness centred around Speedy's barrel chest and massive round shoulders. He could tell the kid wanted direct eye contact, but that wasn't going to happen. No doubt Speedy was used to his victims cowering under the weight of his intimidating stare, letting it distract them so much they didn't see his attack coming until it was too late. Edger had been in too many of these situations. He knew better than to give up control by letting himself get drawn in by another person's intimidation tactics.

The steel baton rested by the side of Speedy's right leg. He shifted the leg back a bit, clearly readying himself to swing the weapon at Edger's skull. Two seconds later, the baton swung out behind him, before coming flying forward again towards Edger's head.

Edger's own baton was made from polycarbonate and was hard as steel. The PR-24 model was one favoured by the LAPD in America, the same model used to beat the shit out of Rodney King in the early nineties, a beating which ended up sparking a riot. Edger had no interest in beating the shit out of anyone, but he would if he had to. He was just glad to have the right tool to defend himself

As Speedy's thin, steel baton came swishing through the air towards him, Edger brought his arm across himself in a blocking motion, and the PR-24 took all the impact of Speedy's baton blow. Edger then shot his forearm towards Speedy's face. A loud crack sounded, as the cartilage in Speedy's nose got crushed by the hard polycarbonate of the PR-24. The kid screamed, staggered back as blood exploded across his face, his beady eyes full of rage as he glared at Edger, who stood staring back with the baton by his side.

"You're fucking dead!" Speedy roared before he rushed at Edger again, the steel baton raised high this time like he intended to cleave Edger's skull in two. Edger smoothly stepped to the side to avoid the attack. At the same time, he swung the PR-24 baton around in an arcing motion, so that the end of it cracked against Speedy's skull, forcefully redirecting the kid's massive bulk, crashing him into the sink and worktops, dishes smashing everywhere. Edger then flipped the PR-24 around, so that he was holding the end of it, the way you would a night stick, then he whacked it against one of Speedy's bulky thighs. Speedy screamed again, and fell to the floor, taking more dishes down with him.

"Get up, Speedy!" one of his gang shouted from the back doorway. "Don't let this cunt beat you!"

Harry spun around and pointed the baton at them. "Get the fuck out of here now!" he snarled, his eyes burning into every one of them. "Or the next skull I crack will be one of yours."

The half dozen teenagers stared at Edger for a moment, like a bunch of rabbits in headlights, then one by one they began to back off, moving further into the darkness of the back yard, away from the house.

"Where you's going?" cried Speedy from the floor. "Fucking get this cunt!"

Edger half turned and whacked Speedy in the balls with the tip of the baton. A high pitched scream erupted from Speedy's mouth. Edger pointed the baton back at the rest of the gang, who had all but backed off by now.

"You're fucking dead, Mister!" one of the braver ones shouted, a young kid in a blue tracksuit, who despite his threat, backed off anyway. "You'll be got!"

When the gang outside had left the back yard, Edger turned his attention back to Speedy, who lay on the floor, one hand holding his balls, the other hand trying to stem the blood still streaming from his broken nose. "That didn't go very well for you, did it, Speedy?" Edger said, putting the PR-45 on the kitchen worktop.

"Fuck you!"

"You need to work on your vocabulary, son. Do you read much?"

Speedy stared up at him with eyes that tried to show defiance but only betrayed his fear and utter consternation at being asked such a pointless question. He said nothing.

"I didn't think so. That's part of the problem with you kids these days. You don't read books. Spend all your time on your phone." Edger shook his head. "Anyway. I'm not your da. It's up to you what you do with yourself."

Edger dropped one knee down onto the teenager's chest, pinning him to the floor, and Speedy groaned at the massive pressure on his sternum. Edger then reached inside his own jacket and took out the Glock 17 pistol from the shoulder holster he was wearing. He pointed the gun at Speedy's head.

"Oh fuck, Mister…don't kill me! Please!"

Not that Edger enjoyed pulling a gun on a kid, but he didn't have a choice. It was the only way to insure Speedy and his gang would leave the old man alone, not to mention the rest of the residents in the street. He pressed the gun against Speedy's forehead, and Speedy started to cry. "Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you right now, son?" Edger said to him. "You're a fucking waste of space. No one would miss you."

"Please, Mister, I'm sorry…please don't fucking shoot me, please don't…"

Harry pressed the gun harder into Speedy's forehead, eliciting a gargled squealing noise from the kid's throat. "You're out of your depth, son."

"I know! I'm sorry!" His eyes were squeezed shut now. "I'm sorry…don't kill me, Mister…don't kill me…"

Harry removed the gun from the kid's forehead. "Look at me."

Speedy, his face a mess of tears, snot and blood, could barely bring himself to look at Edger as he continued sniffling on the floor.

"If you ever come near this house again, for
any
reason, I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. For that matter, if I hear tell of you or any of your little gang coming anywhere near this
street
again,
I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. Your ma will have to put you in a closed casket. Is that what you want?"

Speedy shook his head. "Jesus…no."

Edger almost felt sorry for the kid until he reminded himself of the terror Speedy and his gang of miscreants had been spreading around the estate for months now. Shits like him needed to be taught a lesson. That's all there was to it. Edger took his knee of the kids chest and stood towering over him. "Get up."

Speedy gave the gun in Edger's hand a terrified look, then managed to pick himself up off the floor. All traces of his former hard man persona were gone, leaving a frightened school boy in their wake.

Edger continued glaring at the kid for another moment then stepped aside. "Go on, get out of here. And remember what I said, for your own sake,
and
your ma's."

Speedy nodded his head once before warily sliding his bulk past Edger towards the door. When he got the back door, he stopped and looked around at Edger. "Who are you anyway, Mister?"

Edger stared at the kid for a second, then replied, "Your worst nightmare, son, if I have to be."

The kid gave him a rattled look, then scuttled out the door.

CHAPTER TWO

Peter McCrory hobbled into the kitchen while Edger was in the process of cleaning up the mess made during his altercation with Speedy. The old man stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of faded paisley pyjamas and brown slippers. He looked around with rheumy eyes at the mess in his tiny kitchen. "You sorted them out, did you?"

Edger nodded. "They should leave you alone now," he said, as he put bits of broken crockery into a steel pedal bin. "Sorry about the damage. They kicked your back door in as well."

"I know. I heard."

"You should really look into getting proper doors and windows fitted, Mr. McCrory." Edger knew he was wasting his breath saying that. The old man could doubtless afford the expense of having full UPVC doors and windows fitted. That was part of the problem in a lot of the houses being targeted by these gangs. Too easy to break into. If the old man's door had of been UPVC, Speedy would have never been able to kick it in as easily as he did.

"The council are supposed to replace them all. Haven't got round to me yet. Useless bastards, you know."

Edger smiled. "Why don't you go on back to bed. I'll sort things out here for you. I'll arrange for someone to come around later today and fix your door."

The old man held out a shaky hand, his gnarly fingers holding a few scrunched up ten pound notes. "It's not much. I can get you more."

"I don't want money, Mr. McCrory, honestly. You hold on to that."

"You did a job, so you did. You need paying."

"Not at all. I get enough."

The old man smiled, showing crooked, yellowed teeth. "You're a good man, Harry. You were a soldier, aye?"

"I was."

"I served myself for twenty years. Irish army. Best time of my life, so it was."

Edger smiled and nodded. He couldn't help wondering if he was going to end up as frail and helpless as the old man one day. He guessed it was inevitable. Life was just a slow crawl towards dying after all, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. He should have died half a dozen times over the years, but somehow, he didn't. Which often made him wonder why. Why was he so special? Or was it just dumb luck that he was still walking around?

Before leaving, Edger made sure the old man got back to bed okay, and reassured him that he didn't have to worry about Speedy and his gang anymore, but that if anything happened, he should contact Edger right away. "You're a rare breed, son," the old man said.

Outside on the front street, Edger stopped by his car, a silver Skoda, and looked around for a moment, a sudden feeling of being watched having made him pause. The street was quiet, full of parked cars, but no people. None that he could see anyway. Shaking his head, he put the feeling down to still being on edge after the confrontation with Speedy.

He got into the car and drove off.

Tiredness set in on the drive home to his apartment in South Belfast, and the heat in the car kept making him yawn. Edger couldn't wait to fall into bed when he got home. Later that morning, he was due to pick up his daughter, Kaitlin. Most of his Saturdays in the last six months had been spent with Kaitlin. This week's outing was to Dublin Zoo, which meant he would have to leave early to pick Kaitlin up and then drive for nearly two hours to Dublin. Not that he minded. He was glad to be able to spend time with a daughter that he had only been getting to know for the last eight months, having been completely absent from her life since she was born twelve years ago, a fact that he was doing his best to make up for now.

It was after 2:00 a.m. when he got home. The apartment was chilly when he got in, but he didn't turn on the heating. The Northern Irish climate was still a refreshing change to him, having spent the last decade or more in parts of the world that could only be described as hotter than hell. He had been back in Belfast now for over a year, and he didn't miss the relentless, unbearable heat of the foreign climates he had worked in. People in Northern Ireland moaned all the time about the weather, but he never did. Changeable weather was better than baking heat every day, all day, and the hellish swarms of flies that came along with it. God, the flies. He often thought that if hell existed it had to be home to great swarms of flies that never stopped buzzing.

Edger had done nothing to the apartment to make it his own since he bought it a year ago. The whole place had been furnished already, so he didn't need to do anything to it or buy very much for it. It was open plan, with a decent sized living room, small kitchen and two bedrooms. The smaller bedroom belonged to Kaitlin so she had somewhere to sleep when she stayed over. The only thing Edger really added to the place was the book case in the living room that he had been steadily filling with books since he got it. In his free time all he did was read. The only reason he put a TV in the apartment was to keep Kaitlin happy. She liked to watch her DVDs when she came to stay.

The apartment also came with a balcony that afforded a view of the River Lagan which flowed along not fifty feet from the apartment complex itself. Edger poured himself a glass of Glennfiddich and went outside to the balcony, where he sat in a green coloured garden chair next to a small table. On the table was a dog eared copy of
Le Stranger
that he had forgotten to bring in the last time he was out there. Luckily it hadn't rained since. The Camus novel had sentimental value. It was the first French language book he ever bought when he went to join the Legion. He figured at the time it might help him learn the language. It was a book he had read numerous times since and it still gave him a strange kind of solace when he read it even now.

Taking a pouch of rolling tobacco from his jacket, he proceeded to roll himself a cigarette on the small table. When he lit the cigarette with a silver zippo lighter he had been carrying with him for the last twenty years or more, he stared out towards the darkly flowing river nearby. It was a nightly ritual for him to sit out there and look at the water. He found it calming, and it often reminded him of the great River Congo, over which he had helped build bridges on his first overseas assignment with the Foreign Legion. He couldn't remember ever being happier than he was at that time. Everything had seemed so simple and straight forward. But he was also just a kid back then. Barely nineteen. What the hell did he know about life at that age anyway, especially the life of a professional soldier? How could he have known of what was to come over the next two decades?