A Man Alone (10 page)

5:50. It was time. Wondering if he would get the chance to use them again, he placed the Fiesta’s keys behind the sunshade and got out of the car. He walked to the T junction and turned right. On his side of the road were a string of storehouses, tired pubs, and cafés offering all-day breakfasts. On the other, gated yards of pallets and machinery. Above a gray stone wall, the arms of a giant wind turbine turned lazy circles.

The gates to the dock were locked. Doyle eased himself through a gap in the wire mesh. The outside world disappeared. His life, his being, the whole sum of his years had led to this one place and time. He looked at the water—black, viscous, seeming to pull him into its depths. The effect was disorientating and he looked away afraid of plunging into that unholy foulness never to emerge. He took a deep breath and took in his surroundings. The warehouse was longer than a football pitch and high as the water was deep. Once, ships from the empire came with their cargoes of tobacco to berth at its side. Now it was only the pigeons and rats that made use of the gray brick fortress. Doyle shivered. Above his head he saw a sign:
TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED.
Doyle’s lip curled into a half smile.
ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE
would have been more appropriate. It was that kind of place.

Steeling himself, he set off along a colonnaded walkway. It came as no surprise when, before he reached the halfway mark, they stepped from the building’s shadow. Barry Wood, Jay, and Stonehead Duggan. No one moved. Doyle stared at Wood, held his gaze and searched for a semblance of humanity behind his obsidian eyes. There was nothing there.

“Where’s April?”

Wood came alive. His body seemed to swell and he jabbed a finger. “Don’t you say nothing.” His eyes shone with glee as he appraised Doyle, a fly caught in his web. “This is my game and I make the rules.” He glanced at his watch and raised his brows as if he were surprised at Doyle showing. “At least you’re punctual.”

Doyle clasped his hands before him like a man at prayer. It was best to say nothing. Wood paused, savoring the moment, eager to turn the screw and have his fun. But it could wait. He turned to his nephew and jerked his head in Doyle’s direction. Jay pulled a semi-automatic from his jacket pocket, darted forward.

Jay trained the gun on him, pausing until Doyle held his arms out like a scarecrow. He patted him down and went through his pockets. Jay looked back at his Uncle and held up Doyle’s phone.

“That it?”

Jay nodded.

Wood jerked a thumb over his shoulder and Jay tossed it into the water.

Doyle dropped his arms.

“Bit surprised,” said Wood. “Thought you might try to be the hero.” He shimmied like a boxer taking a stance. “Do the rescue bit.” And then he smiled, a thin line of menace. “Actually, I was lookin’ forward to it.” He glanced back at Stonehead. “Weren’t we?”

Doyle checked his watch. 6:05. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve come as you wanted. Let me see April.”

Wood held his gaze. “Why should I?”

“Because you’ve got what you want, because you’re a man who values his reputation.” Doyle focused hard on Wood. “Because if you go back on our agreement, your word will mean shit.”

Doyle watched Wood’s shoulders stiffen. He had hit the mark. Reputation meant everything to this guy. Wood opened his mouth then bit back his words. He swiveled his head to look at Jay then at Stonehead. Both were grinning. Then he laughed, a short bark that echoed across the water. Doyle frowned, there was something here he was missing.

“It’s sad really,” said Wood, “but there’s something you should know.” He rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “I haven’t got the girl, I never had the girl. She came to us and begged me to sort it. She hates you, hates what you’ve done. It was her idea.”

Doyle felt something inside him twist. “You’re lying.”

“No. Last night when we were figuring out what to do with you, my little mate,

Burnsie brought her in. Said if I let her and her mam be, she’d help me get you on your own.” He used a finger to trace a cross over his heart. “God’s truth Doyle. It was her idea.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Wood shrugged. “Whether you do or don’t doesn’t really matter. It’s just a thought to take to whatever dark place you’re going to. Got to say she surprised me.” He shook his head. “Devious bitch. She’s one to watch is that kid.”

Doyle’s heart beat a little faster. This wasn’t going the way he planned. “So what now?”

Wood leered. “I’ve got you Doyle. I’ve got you where I want and your life’s not worth a carrot. One man.” He held up a finger. “That’s all you were, and now it’s over. That’s all there is to it.” He walked over to Doyle, balled his fist, and punched him in the face.

A light exploded in Doyle’s head. He fell back, managed to cushion the fall with his hands but still crashed hard on the ground. A foot dug into his ribs. He groaned. Blood from his split lip strayed into his mouth. He turned on his side and spat on the floor as the metallic taste registered. Doyle saw Wood standing over him, and he waited for more.

But there wasn’t. Instead Wood summoned Jay. “Take yourself off to the car.”

“I want to watch.”

Wood grabbed his shoulder “We’re not here.” He flicked a finger between them. “We were never here. Understand?”

Jay’s dull eyes glimmered. If they weren’t there then they couldn’t be accused of anything. A slick smile creased his mouth. He stared at Doyle, grinned in a see what you’ve gone and done, kind of way, then turned his back and began to walk.

Doyle pushed himself to his knees. 6:10.

Wood pointed. “Don’t you fucking move.” He gestured Stonehead forward. In his hands was a stainless link chain. Wood looked back at Doyle. “So this is the way of it. See that?” He gestured to a metal drum lying on its side. Stonehead clipped the chain to a metal loop on its flat end. “One drum, one chain, and one stretch of water. But here’s the thing. The dock’s forty foot, the chain twenty.” He smirked. “I won’t bother to ask if you can swim.”

Wood nodded at Stonehead. “Give us five minutes then do it.” Once more he looked at Doyle. “Goodbye Mr. Doyle. We won’t meet again.”

Doyle watched him until he ducked beneath the gate’s wire mesh and disappeared back into the living world, a world where a man’s span wasn’t just measured in seconds and minutes. Not once did he look back. A cold wind rippled the water, teasing the cut on Doyle’s lip. He shifted his gaze to look at Duggan.

Stonehead hadn’t moved. He had waited days for this moment. He made sure Doyle saw him finger his eye patch, then pulled the chain tight between his fists. A grim smile stretched across his face. Doyle tried to swallow but there was nothing there. He licked his dry lips, tasted the crust of blood that had formed and glanced at his watch. 6:13.

Stonehead watched him in silence. From his waistband, he drew a large revolver, pointed it at Doyle. It was a Brocock, a converted-gas operated air pistol. Some bright lad had discovered that by the judicious use of a drill and bit they could fire live ammunition. The underworld was awash with them. They were made from alloy, dangerous and inaccurate, but at this range Doyle wasn’t taking any chances.

Stonehead tossed him the free end of the chain and gestured with the gun. “Put it round your ankle.” Reaching in his pocket, he produced a large brass padlock. “Fasten it with that.” He threw it to Doyle.

Doyle caught the lock. “And if I don’t?”

Stonehead shrugged and extended his arm holding the gun. “Makes no difference to me”. I can finish it here and now or you can have two more minutes.”

Doyle checked his watch. 6:14. Every second dragged. He picked up the chain.

Stonehead laughed. “Amazing what people will do for an extra minute, an extra few seconds of existence.” He sniffed the air as if it were some kind of elixir. “Makes you think how precious life is.” He sat on the barrel, keeping the gun trained on Doyle, pushed the ground with his heels. The barrel moved. He snorted a laugh. “It won’t be good you know.” He tipped his chin in the water’s direction. “Down there I mean. Fighting for breath and knowing you ain’t ever going to make it.” He made a mock shivering motion with his shoulders. “Me,” he nodded more to himself than Doyle, “I’d take a bullet any day. Quick, simple, all done in an instant.” He looked at Doyle. “I’ll do you a favor if you like?” He rose from his seat, stepped forward and put the gun barrel to Doyle’s forehead.

Doyle didn’t move. He stared into Stonehead’s good eye and waited as the cold ring of steel ate into his skull. A heartbeat passed—then Stonehead removed the gun and stepped back. He sniggered. “Nah,” he said. “Too easy. I want to see you go over the side, I want... ” He stopped talking and his brow creased. “Will you stop looking at your fucking watch.”

6:15. Much to Doyle’s surprise, the cheap, plastic £1 alarm clock kept perfect time. The blast came fifty meters from where Stonehead stood over Doyle. Not knowing exactly where the swap was to take place, Doyle had taken an early morning trip and secreted three of the bombs in various parts of the building. One had a timer in case his phone was confiscated. He figured it may be distraction enough to give him some advantage. He was right.

The explosion punched a hole in the top story of the building. Bricks, mortar, clouds of dust flew into the air. Stonehead ducked and turned to see what the hell was happening. In that instant Doyle moved. Using the end of the chain like a whip, he swung it at Stonehead.

Stonehead heard the whistle of wind too late and it caught the side of his face.

He grunted, twisted away. It was enough for Doyle. Up and running, he kicked at the hand holding the gun. There was a crack as the bone in his wrist snapped like a dry stick. The gun flew into the air. Stonehead cried out. Grasping his wrist, he tried to ease the pain, then look for Doyle. Stonehead was big and mean, but that didn’t make him stupid. He knew his life depended on what he did next. He dropped his shoulder and charged, hoping to push Doyle over the edge and into the water.

Stepping to the side, Doyle cracked his fist into his face. Stonehead fell back, stumbled, and went down on one knee. He tried to rise but Doyle was on him, had picked up the chain, wrapping it around his fist, and punched him. Then punched him again and again until Stonehead’s face was a bloody mess, his hand was raw, and the big man had stopped moving.

T
WENTY MINUTES PASSED AND
no one came. Doyle wasn’t surprised. It was Saturday, the workshops and yards were closed. If anyone heard the explosion, they kept it to themselves. There was football on TV and the pubs were open. Why get hassled?

Doyle sat on the overturned barrel. As day turned to night, a few security lights flickered into existence. Yellow reflections shimmied in the water like seams of gold. On the floor in front of him, Stonehead started to move. He brought a hand to his face, pawed at the dried blood and started to fold a leg beneath him. As he felt it tighten, Stonehead jerked awake. Realizing what had happened, he tugged the chain fastened around his ankle, and, hardly believing, he tugged again. Doyle got off the drum. He had retrieved Stonehead’s gun and waved it as his head.

“Where’s my daughter?”

Stonehead recovered. He pushed himself onto his knees, spat on the floor, and wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Telling you nothing.”

Doyle moved back to the metal drum. It was a few feet from the edge of the dock.

He tapped the side with the gun. It gave a dull clang.

Stonehead looked, followed the chain run from his leg to where it was attached to the barrel. Then he grinned. “Think I’m scared or something, think I’m a kid.” He pushed his tongue round the inside of his mouth then used a finger to probe a loose tooth. Stonehead spat again. “It’s true what he said you know. That girl of yours, she come to us. Barry’s got her now, got something on her. And he likes ’em young. He’s given her a job and everything. And d’you know what he’ll do next?” Stonehead waited. Doyle didn’t respond. “He’ll fuck her, use her, and dump her. There won’t be anything you can do about it.” He began to cackle then opened his mouth and roared until the cuts on his face reopened. Blood dribbled down his chin.

Doyle put his foot on the drum. “Why should I believe you?”

“Cos it’s the truth.”

Doyle closed his eyes. “Just tell me where she is.”

“Fuck off Doyle. You might be good with them bombs, but this is different. When you look a man in the eye, when you can smell his breath, it’s not so easy.” He shook his head. “Have you got the bottle?” He looked hard at Doyle, held his gaze until it seemed he knew every secret he had ever possessed. Stonehead smirked and shook his head. “Nah. I didn’t think you had.”

Stonehead raised himself off the ground. Stood tall and straight. Chin up, chest out, just like Barry had taught him. Doyle lowered the pistol and Stonehead laughed. He laughed even louder when Doyle turned his back. He stopped when Doyle pushed the barrel with his foot.

Stonehead’s brow furrowed.

Doyle pushed harder and the barrel began to rock. Using the underside of his foot, he pushed again and it moved. It picked up momentum, rolling toward the water. The defiant glint in Stonehead’s eye disappeared. His face widened into blank astonishment. “You’ve got to be fucking...”