To Kill For (27 page)

‘Don't worry about me,' he said.

I gave him a boost up and he reached into the gap and pulled himself in. It was tight and he had to scramble to get his upper body through. And then he stopped. He was stuck just above the waist, his legs dangling. I got underneath him and put my hands under both his feet and pushed. I could hear him yell in pain. I pushed, sweat dripping down my forehead and mixing with the concrete dust and running into my eyes, my mouth. There was the sound of a muffled groan. Gibson was stifling his pain as much as he could. If he made too much noise, the men in the warehouse would turn on him and he wouldn't be able to run. I looked up as I strained and saw a corner of broken concrete jabbing into his gut, blood staining his shirt. I heaved and watched the concrete scrape his stomach as he slowly, slowly squeezed through. Finally he was out. I chucked his pistol up to him.

Cole had tossed his jacket and pulled his shirt off, ripping it into strips and trebling up the strips which he now jammed into the bottles, tipping the bottles up to let the petrol soak the cotton cloth. He handed the bottles up to Gibson. We watched Gibson kneeling over the hole. He vanished and we waited. I had my Makarov, still with a few rounds. Cole had a small revolver which I hadn't seen him holding, probably an ankle piece. The other bloke had his pistol, but he was out of rounds. Still, he pointed it towards the garage doors, too scared, maybe, to remember that it was useless.

The gunfire had died down. They were getting ready to storm us. We moved to the back of the boat and crouched. There must have been ten rounds between the three of us. We waited.

‘What's keeping him?' Cole said.

A hand reached out and touched the edge of the garage door.

‘They're going to toss a grenade in,' I said. ‘When they do—'

There was a whoosh and a smashing of glass. The front of the garage lit up bright orange and yellow. We heard men shout, others scream. Gunfire opened up again, near this time, some of it hitting the garage doors. We ducked down, behind the boat. There was an explosion and a crash that shook the whole building. I felt a rush of air that pushed me into the ground. Dust filled my mouth, my nose. The noise was like a wall of pressure squeezing my head. I thought we were probably dead.

Then it went quiet. I tried to move. As far as I could tell, I wasn't injured. I looked over at Cole and saw that his face was white from dust, blood trickled from his nose. He moved his head and looked my way, but his eyes wouldn't focus. He raised his pistol in a kind of reflex action, but it was slow and I thought he was concussed. The other bloke was dead, his face full of wooden splinters. He hadn't ducked in time.

I slapped Cole on the face a couple of times. He shook his head, put an arm up and pushed me away.

‘I'm alright,' he said.

When we pulled ourselves out of the mess, I saw that the garage doors had blown inwards. One was twisted on a hinge, the other had landed on the boat just above our heads. We climbed of the debris and came out of the front with our pistols in our hands.

Some men were standing around and it took me a moment to realize they weren't firing at us. Then I saw Gibson, bent over, his pistol in his hand. I looked up at the windows in the warehouse. Gibson saw me.

‘Scarpered,' he said. ‘All of them. All that ain't dead.'

And there were plenty who were dead, from both sides. They lay like piles of rubbish. The ones who'd survived were scattered all over, some on the ground, some staring at nothing, some lighting cigarettes with shaking hands.

Cole looked over at the motors. They'd been torn apart by bullet holes, scorched and scraped. He looked at the men lying on the ground, some still burning. He coughed a lung up, spat and bent over, hands on his knees, catching his breath. He stood up straight.

‘Fuck,' he said. ‘I'm too old and fat for this shit. I thought we'd had it then. Close thing.'

He was right. This hadn't been a fight, it had been a battle. We hadn't won, we'd survived.

I had dust, bits of concrete in my hair, stuck to the sweat on my face. Dust clung to my clothes.

In the distance, headlights came towards us. Cole's phone rang and he answered it. Gibson got down on one knee, ready to fire at the newcomers.

‘They're ours,' Cole said, putting the phone in his pocket.

Gibson stood. Cole wiped a hand over his face and spat again. He looked over at me. His look was fierce.

‘Wherever you go,' he said darkly, ‘wreckage. Shit. They wanted you, they were after you.'

I brushed the concrete from my hair, took my jacket off and knocked the dust out.

‘You're here, aren't you? They wanted both of us.'

‘How did they know you were coming here?'

‘Laing must've called Whelan about his money. Whelan must've called your nephew.'

‘My nephew. And he would've guessed you'd come to stop me.'

‘Something like that.'

‘My nephew. A curse.'

‘You know who did this,' I said. ‘And it wasn't your nephew alone. And it wasn't fucking Albanians.'

The bouncers eyed me up as I neared, but they didn't look spooked. They didn't know I was the enemy. One of asked me if I was a member. I pushed him aside. The other thought he'd better try and do his job and stepped forward and put a hand on my chest. I grabbed his wrist with my right hand, bent it inwards and locked his arm at the elbow with my left. He cried out in surprise as much as pain. When he was on his knees, I kicked him in the face and heard something crunch. The first bouncer didn't like the look of things and backed away from me, pulling a radio handset from his jacket. As he was trying to get the thing to work, I smacked him with a right hook and he crumpled to the ground. I stepped over them and passed a gaping city-type who'd gone outside for a smoke.

It must've been near to closing time and there was only a scattering of people inside the club. The music throbbed and a few fat men watched a few thin girls move back and forth to a different tune. The lights were black.

I didn't think they'd want a fuss in front of the punters, no matter how drunk they were. I was right. By the time I was up the stairs and into the casino, the word was out and a dozen pairs of eyes were on me, but nobody came near. Men in monkey-suits shadowed me. They had a plan. They were steering me towards the back offices. That was fine with me.

When I got to the back, they were waiting. There were three of them between me and Dunham's office. They were tooled up, but they were unsure.

It was busier up here than in the club downstairs. Getting pissed and gawking at half-naked women wasn't as popular as getting pissed and throwing your money away.

The punters out on the casino floor couldn't see us, but they'd hear. This bunch knew that, and they knew too that Dunham wouldn't like a fuss, not in the West End, not in his flagship establishment, his guise of respectability, not with the place full of rich tossers who were pissed and handing over their money.

The one in the middle was the red-haired bloke I'd met before. He held an automatic by his side, gripping it tightly. He didn't know what to do. The other two kept their guns holstered. They looked at each other. I wasn't going to stop and wait for them to make their minds up. Red Hair raised his gun.

‘Stay right there,' he said.

I kept walking.

‘Stay fucking there.'

The other two had their weapons drawn now, but they were backing away, caught in uncertainty. That was good. Red Hair thumbed the safety off and pulled back the hammer, but he was backing away too. When I was six feet away I charged and he panicked and turned side on, forgetting he even had a gun. I slammed my shoulder into his midriff and lifted him off his feet. His gun clattered somewhere behind me. I kept on charging, carrying the man as I went. The other two were fumbling with their guns now, but it was too late. I hit them and the whole lot of us crashed into the wall at the end of the corridor, smashing the plaster into bits. One of them was unconscious, his gun a few feet away, another scuttered towards it. I pulled my Makarov out. Red Hair lunged at me and grabbed my arm. I dropped the gun. I lifted him up and slammed him into the wall. He grunted. I kicked out at the other bloke and caught him on the shoulder. He rolled over and tried to stand and I kicked him again, this time putting the flat of my boot in his chest. Red Hair was pounding me in the face. With my left, I pulled him close. With my right, I whacked him on the jaw. His head snapped back and he went limp in my hand.

A voice behind me said, ‘Don't break them, Joe. They're not insured.'

I dropped Red Hair, picked up my Makarov and turned to see Eddie standing there, an amused look on his handsome face. I managed to hold off from smacking him one. I wondered if he knew what was in my mind. He would probably have dodged it anyway. He'd always been a good mover in the ring, and out of it.

‘You might as well come in,' he said, holding the door open.

He was armed, but he wasn't in a hurry to pull his piece. There was something wrong with that. He should've wanted me dead. He should've been scared of what I might do. He should've been fucking terrified.

Other men had turned up now, but they stopped short when Eddie held up his hand. He waved them away. I went into the office, the Makarov at my side. Dunham was seated behind his desk, papers in front of him, a burning cigarette in one hand, a pen in the other. He looked at me coldly, but he didn't seem surprised to see me. He didn't even bother with the gun in my hand. They didn't seem to know I was supposed to be dead. I thought that maybe Carl had set me up off his own back, scared of what I'd do to him when I knew the truth of his involvement. I stowed my gun. I'd used it to get into Dunham's office. I wanted to be able to get out again.

Dunham put his pen down and flicked ash into the ashtray. He glanced at Eddie. Eddie shrugged. When they'd finished that performance, Dunham sat back in his seat and said, ‘Your instructions not clear enough? Didn't understand what I told you to do?'

‘I understood.'

‘So why are you here?'

‘I want to know what you're up to.'

Eddie looked amused.

‘Up to?' he said.

‘You've been fucking me from the start.'

‘Take it easy, Joe. What are you talking about?'

‘All that about the Albanians being our problem. You wanted Cole going after them. You wanted me to push him that way.'

Dunham took a drag of his cigarette and blew smoke out and said, ‘The Albanians are a threat.'

‘No, they're not. You knew they weren't. You lied.'

‘Did we? Why would we do that?'

‘Distraction.'

‘Start making sense.'

‘You knew me and Cole wanted Paget, and you knew I'd kill him when I found him. You had to try and throw us off the train, me especially. But if you told me outright not to go for him, I'd be suspicious, so you gave me that bollocks about the Albanians and about the pact you had with Cole.'

‘Like I say, why would we do that?'

‘Because you wanted Paget for yourself. Alive. So you had to buy some time while you found him, have me and Cole running around fighting the Albanians. Then when you got him, all you had to do was make me think you were still looking for him. Thinking like that took someone who would know I wouldn't give up on Paget.'

I looked at Eddie. He was leaning with his back to the wall and his hands in his pockets. He was trying to look relaxed. The more he tried, the more I knew he was churning up inside. It wasn't because of fucking me over. That wouldn't have bothered him.

He'd known exactly how to get to me. I almost admired him for it. Haul him in, he must've told Dunham, haul him in and make like the law. Tell him he's got to hand Paget over. Make him think you want Paget for something. Then turn him loose and watch what happens. The last place he'll come looking for Paget is here. The last people he'll suspect will have him is us. If you play him right.

It was only business. I knew that.

I turned back to Dunham. He smiled and raised his glass to Eddie.

‘You're right. Eddie told me you'd go after Paget and you'd track him down sooner or later. He said that you might tell Cole where he was. Then we'd have a lot of bother.'

‘Why didn't you warn me off?'

‘Eddie said you wouldn't listen.'

‘What else did he say?'

‘He said you were a stubborn, bloody-minded bastard. He said if we warned you off, you'd suspect something. He said you'd go at it twice as hard. He said to stop you, we'd have to kill you.'

‘He said a lot of things.'

‘He was right, wasn't he? I could use someone like you. Come onto my payroll.'

‘Now the bribe. I wouldn't work for you. I should kill you.'

Eddie inched away from the wall.

‘Watch it, Joe.'

‘If I'd had my way,' Dunham was saying, ‘I'd have wiped you out before you even got started. You're a fucking nuisance. I could have stamped on you whenever I wanted.'

‘Why didn't you?'

‘Eddie.'

‘Out of the goodness of his heart?'

I was watching Eddie as I said that. He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes like it usually did.

‘There was no goodness in it, Joe,' Eddie said, relaxing his body back against the wall. ‘Just logic.'

‘Right. You knew if you killed me Cole would suspect something. You should've killed me anyway,' I told Dunham. ‘Eddie made a mistake.'

‘You're making one. You don't know what you're talking about.'

‘I know you saw an opportunity. Paget was on the run. He knew Cole was after him. He knew I'd find him and kill him. He needed protection. So he came to you, or you found him and made him an offer. But you wouldn't take him in unless he had something to bargain with.'