A Reason to Kill (25 page)

The grinding, scraping of metal against rock froze his blood. And Frank’s slack body was thrown forward over the front passenger seat to impact with the windscreen and slide down, coming to rest with its blasted head in Sal’s lap.

Sal prayed, and wet himself, and moaned aloud, hoping that his end would be quick and painless.

Sweet Jesus! Thank you
. He experienced a flood of overwhelming relief as the car came to an unexpected, bone-jarring stop, canting down at an acute angle. It shuddered, engine roaring, but held. The headlights illuminated the quarry floor over hundred and twenty feet below.

Sal found the belt release, popped it loose and reached for the door handle. He was holding his breath, fighting to maintain composure. He slid out from beneath Frank’s head as the door opened. Another second or two and he would be out on the ledge that had stopped the car’s descent. He was still dazed. Didn’t know what had happened to Eddie, or that his present predicament was anything other than an accident.

“Oh, fucking God, no! Please!” he shouted as the car lurched forward. It gathered speed, and his brain acknowledged that death was scant seconds away. The big car seemed to cling to the vertical wall and race down it. He could have been travelling on a shiny white road, not on a one-way journey to hell. His foot inadvertently depressed the accelerator, as he fell forward and cracked his head on the windscreen. With engine noise drowning his scream, all Sal could do was watch through the glass in horror as the rocky floor appeared to leap up to meet him. The bonnet crumpled and the engine block was shunted back to meld flesh and steel in uneasy union.

Eddie clambered to his feet and walked the few paces to the newly formed break in the fence. He went through it, approached the lip of the quarry and, craning his neck, looked down to be surprised and dismayed at the sight of the car hung up on a wide outcrop of rock. It was balanced precariously and swaying slightly. He watched as the driver’s door began to open, and then smiled with relief as weight and gravity conspired to pull it free. It fell away with the speed of a plummeting lift; cables snapped and safety brakes inoperative. He heard Sal’s soulful scream. The initial thud was unexceptional, but the following explosion was a joy to behold. A bright orange ball of flame rushed upwards, and Eddie backed away from the blast of heat and the accompanying pall of black smoke.

“Come on,” Carlo shouted as the glow from the quarry lit up the sky.

Eddie jogged over to the Cherokee, climbed in, and Carlo drove quickly away, back to the house.

Dom was waiting, pacing at the bottom of the steps as they approached along the drive. Eddie told him what had happened. Dom patted him on the shoulder and nodded. The police would believe that the shooter had intercepted the car and shot Frank. It would appear to them that Sal had skidded, lost control and ended up in the quarry. No doubt someone who lived nearby had heard the explosion and would report the incident. There would be no evidence to tie the hit geographically to Villa Venice. And the bodies of the guards and dog were already being transported to the coast, where they would be taken out to sea and dumped in deep water, suitably weighted with breeze blocks.

Nick drove the white Transit van with the corpses of Chip Martin, the other guard, the dog, and the HK91 assault rifle in the back. He needed to phone Tom Bartlett, but he was not alone. Tiny sat next to him. One way or another, he would have to shake the big guy for a minute or two. Tom needed to know what had really gone down that night.

* * *

Eric Crompton’s head kept falling forward as he battled to stay awake and watch the old black and white movie on his 14 inch portable:
The
Maltese Falcon
. Eric had been a big fan of Humphrey Bogart for as long as he could remember, and had seen all his films countless times. He never tired of Bogey, Edward G Robinson, Jimmy Cagney and George Raft. As far as he was concerned, they could keep all the new computer-generated garbage that was being churned out nowadays. Give him hard-boiled dialogue and a good gangster yarn every time. Or a western. He liked the Duke and Eastwood.

Eric was reaching out to pick up a can of Coke from the table next to him when a deafening explosion shook the Portakabin. He cried out and leapt to his feet as the window behind the portable TV was lit up by a column of fire that mushroomed up from the quarry floor. He dropped the can of soda as the window imploded, threw himself to the floor and stayed there for a minute, before getting up and going outside to investigate. The initial brightness faded to a glow and then reformed, regaining its effulgence. As he looked on, burning fuel fanned out like fluttering yellow and orange ribbons of silk.

“Fuckin’ kids!” Eric muttered, breathing deeply and holding his chest as his heart pounded with the shock of what had happened. It wouldn’t be the first time that teenage joy riders had torched a stolen car and pushed it into the quarry. Being a night-watchman wasn’t the doddle people imagined it to be. He’d had his moments. It wasn’t in the same league as Beachy Head, but there had been six suicides in the fourteen years he had been working here. Even a double-header; a young couple did a Butch and Sundance, without the benefit of water to land in. He had been out doing his rounds when they dropped in on him, literally. The boy died on impact, but the girl wasn’t so lucky. She was all twisted and broken up, making hair-raising sounds as she blew bubbles of blood. If she’d been an animal, he would have put her out of her misery with a spade. She had lasted until just before the ambulance arrived, poor cow.

Eric walked as close to the inferno as the heat would permit, hands up to his face, squinting through the gaps between his fingers. God have mercy! Someone was in the car. The top half of a burning figure was hanging out from where the windscreen had been. And it was moving. Eric’s nerve ends tingled, itched and squirmed at the horrific sight. It was like watching a living Guy Fawkes on a bonfire. Commonsense told him that the man, or woman – he couldn’t tell which – was dead, and that the effects of the heat was contorting the corpse. But what if it
was
still alive?

This wasn’t a dumped, stolen vehicle, Eric surmised. Some drunk driver had probably crashed through the chain link fence high above. But there was nothing he could do. The small extinguisher in the hut would be less effective than pissing on a chip fire. He ran back to the Portakabin and phoned first the emergency services, then the quarry manager. This was one of those nights that he would never forget, and would probably have nightmares about. Thank Christ he was coming up to retirement. He liked his violent death confined to the old movies he was addicted to, not happening in reality, and before his very eyes.

“
PLEASED
to see me, huh?” Gary asked.

Marion just stared at him and put her hands to her mouth. She was acting as though she had just walked into a house on Elm Street and come face to face with Freddy Krueger.

“Better get your shit together, Marion. You know all about me, now, so will appreciate what position you’re in.”

Marion lowered her hands to her sides. “Have you come to kill me, Gary?” she asked, surprised that her voice sounded so calm, belying the dread she felt.

“Not if you don’t give me reason to. You’re the only person who has ever shown me any genuine affection. Can I trust you, Marion?”

“Yes,” she answered. “Although the truth is, you find it impossible to trust anybody”

“Wrong, Marion. I trust my instincts. Why are you home so early?”

“Because I just resigned. The police have the video you took of us. I decided to get out before it became an issue.”

“What did you tell the police about me?”

“The truth. That we were having an affair.”

“What else?”

“Nothing. How could I? I didn’t know what you had done. I didn’t think you were capable of...of killing.”

“Who did you talk to?”

“I gave a statement to the police, and was interviewed by a criminal psychologist.”

“Dr. Beth Holder?”

“Yes. How did you know that?”

He ignored her question. “Are you being guarded?”

“Yes. There’s a policeman outside, about fifty yards down the street in a grey Vectra.”

“Only the one?”

“As far as I know. They don’t consider me to be in any danger. I think it’s just a case of covering all possibilities. One cop told me not to worry, because you wouldn’t be stupid enough to turn up here.”

Gary grinned. He wasn’t the stupid one. “Okay, let’s go down and have a nice cup of tea and watch the news. I might just be one of the main stories today.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see. I’ve been a busy boy.”

Marion turned and went back down the stairs. She knew that she should be terrified, but did not feel in imminent jeopardy. There was no animosity being directed toward her. Gary appeared to be relaxed and in control. And he looked so different compared to the last time she had seen him. His hair was very short, he was a little thinner in the face, and was in the process of growing a beard and moustache. He was almost unrecognisable, apart from the black, staring eyes that marked him with an unmistakable individuality.

“You should wear shades, Gary,” she said, switching on the kettle, and then the portable TV. “Your eyes are a dead give-away.”

Sitting at the kitchen table, Marion reached into her handbag for her cigarettes and lighter. She withdrew them, and then pulled out a small, white plastic object fastened to a cord. “I could have pressed this,” she said, tossing it across the table to him.

“What is it?” he asked.

“An alarm. Some kind of battery-operated panic button. I was told that if I pressed it, the house would be surrounded by armed police in minutes.”

“Why didn’t you use it?”

“Because I’m a selfish bitch. I don’t know why you kill, and I’ve decided I don’t really care. What we had was good. I’ve never been accepted by other people, so why should I be concerned about them now?”

“What are you saying, Marion?”

“That you really
can
trust me, Gary. Fuck everybody else. I’ll do anything you want me to. I’m on your side.”

Gary pocketed the gizmo, placed the Glock on the tabletop and went to her. She turned sideways, opening her legs so that he could stand between her thighs, up close to her. He pulled her to him and began to grow hard.

“That’s my girl, Marion,” he said. “Just you and me against the world. Once I’ve finished what I have to do, we can go away together and start a new life. I have a lot of money. You’d want for nothing.”

They did not move for a while. The slim killer and the dumpy ex-nurse made an odd-looking couple.

He kissed her eager lips. Her breath was fresh, with no hint of garlic. She needed him, he knew that. And in a strange way that he could not fathom, he found succour in her company. Was it possible, feasible, that together they could be truly happy? He broke the embrace as the news came on, pulling his chair around to Marion’s side of the table so that they could sit next to each other and watch. They held hands. First up was the inevitable update of the global, ongoing war against terrorism. Funny, Gary thought, how so many innocents died in the continuing battle of opposing ideals. World peace appeared to be as elusive as it had always been. Why didn’t the people of the world unite and say, no, enough? The answer was simple. All leaders brainwashed the insect electorate by using a blend of propaganda and downright lies. To paint the selected enemy as a threat to democracy and all that was worth preserving was an age-old ploy. Fear was the key to keeping a nation’s mind off the shortfalls of its leadership. All domestic concerns could be put on hold if war was on the near horizon, or being waged.

It was ten minutes later that a photograph of Frank Santini filled the screen. It was reported that while being driven home from one of his city night-clubs in the small hours, the entrepreneur’s car apparently left the road, crashed through a fence and dropped over a hundred and forty feet into a quarry, where it exploded. It was not yet known whether any other vehicle had been involved. The police were continuing their investigation.

Gary had to hand it to Dom. He had stage-managed an alternative set of circumstances at short notice. No doubt when the police confirmed that Frank had been shot, Dom would act suitably shocked. That it would appear to have happened away from the estate was the point of the exercise. The Old Bill would have no cause to search the Santini residence. It was a commendable cleanup operation, which would keep the crap away from Dom’s door. No bird likes shit in its own nest.

Gary went over to the TV and switched it off. “What happened to the tea?” he asked.

Marion got up and made it. “Did you have something to do with that?” she asked as she returned to the table.

“I had everything to do with it. Do you really want to know who I am, Marion?”

She nodded. Lit another cigarette. Sipped nervously at her tea.

“I’ve spent years killing people for money. I sometimes do it purely for pleasure. But it’s basically my profession.”

Marion would have liked to believe that what Gary was telling her was no more than one of his delusions, but knew because of recent events that it was the truth.

“Are you saying that you are a...a contract killer?”

Gary nodded. “I was hired by the guy you just saw on the box to hit a witness who was being kept under wraps in a safe house. I did the job, but was seen. Since then, things have been a little chaotic. They know who I am now, but will never catch me. I have passports and paperwork to adopt one of several new identities.”

“So why are you still here? Isn’t it risky?”

“What’s life without a little risk? I need to take care of some unfinished business. Once that’s done, we can go anywhere in the world, if you want to come with me.”

“I do,” Marion heard herself say. It was as if another person had moved in and taken up residence in her brain. “I want to really live, not just exist. But let’s go
now
, Gary.”

“No can do. I’ve stirred things up and need to see what floats to the top, and deal with it.”

“All of a sudden, I feel like Bonnie Parker,” Marion said as the enormity of what she was prepared to do struck home.

“Well I’m no Clyde fucking Barrow,” Gary said. “He was a dipshit. Got himself and Bonnie turned into colanders for no good reason.”

“And you believe you can outsmart everybody?”

“You worked closely with me. I was one of your patients, and yet you bought the mixed-up young man act. Did you ever think it possible that I could be capable of the so-called atrocities you now know I committed?”

“No. You’re very clever, Gary. But there’s always somebody just as smart around the corner.”

“I doubt that. But it would be a novelty to have a challenge. People are such predictable and easy prey.”

“What will you do now?”

“You don’t need to know. Initially, I thought I might stay here with you for a few days.”

Marion was all in favour of that. “Good. What happened to your hand and arm?” she asked, noticing that coins of blood were beginning to show through the bandage.

“I got chewed on by a rat, then a dog. They didn’t know who they were fooling around with.”

She didn’t enquire as to their fate. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving.”

With renewed appetite, Marion fried bacon, sausages, eggs and tomatoes, and served it up with a stack of thickly-buttered toast and mugs of coffee.

Gary noticed that she had lost some weight. “You look really good, Marion,” he said through a mouthful of food. “You must have lost a couple of stone at least. You’ll need a whole new wardrobe.”

She blushed. “I did it for you, Gary. I might never be a catwalk model, but it won’t harm to see if there are a few curves under this blubber.”

Christ, she was just about perfect. Being five years older than him lent her a certain maturity that he found almost maternal. She could be a friend, lover, confidante, and the mother he’d wished his own had been. Marion was far removed from Tracy Noon, who had been a cheap whore and poor excuse for a human being.

“I killed my mother,” he stated simply. “She was a Tom and a lush, who brought men home to fuck for money. One of her...her punters was my father.”

The admission released something. He had never told another living soul of his act of matricide. Just confessing it gave him an almost physical relief. He likened it to when he had suffered almost unbearable pain from an abscess under a tooth. When the dentist pulled it, there was an instant assuagement as the trapped pus was discharged.

To Marion, the disclosure was a thunderbolt. Her stomach rolled. The greasy food she had just eaten threatened to come back up. She pushed her plate away. “Maybe she was desperate, Gary. The drink may have been to dampen her feelings of shame or hopelessness. It’s all too easy for a girl to fall
¯”

“Don’t even attempt to make excuses for her, Marion. We all make life choices. She could have found other work; got by without degrading herself and screwing strangers. I spent years watching an endless procession of pathetic men come and go. I would lie awake at night and listen to the creaking of bedsprings and the cries and moans of pleasure. I went to sleep a thousand times with my fingers in my ears. I was left to fend for myself, mostly. In the end something snapped. I hated her for having me, and for then neglecting me. Maybe she hated me. One night, after she’d finished up with some creep, I pushed her down the stairs. And I felt so-o-o good. The problem was suddenly gone.”

Marion could not think of anything to say to him. The confession explained so much to her of his personality and subsequent actions. On one level, he probably knew that his mother had cared for him. She could always have had the pregnancy terminated, but had obviously chosen to have him. And she had not given him up for adoption. But the embarrassment of being a young boy with a drunken prostitute for a mother had been too much for him to assimilate and bear. Killing her must have left him very disturbed. Feelings of relief, suppressed guilt, self-condemnation and a sense of loss would take a heavy toll. The boy had lived with the terrible secret, gone unpunished, and had no doubt started mutilating himself as penance, even if he was unaware of the reason he practised self harm. He had also discovered that all dilemmas could be eradicated, erased. She could empathise with that philosophy, to a degree. How many times had she wanted to hurt...even kill somebody? Gary had just taken that giant step over an invisible line and done it, to be changed forever by the experience.

“You understand, don’t you?” Gary asked.

“Yes, my love. Let’s go to bed. I need you.”

They went upstairs, undressed slowly without talking, then lay on the bed and coupled. Marion gripped his buttocks with her hands, rising energetically to meet his hard thrusts. All too soon she climaxed, and then felt him loose himself within her. They kissed, fondled each other intimately, and made love again, moving with less urgency. It was a syncopated act. They enjoyed each other at length, more casually, without the need to rush, savouring, exploring, before eventually releasing together. The physical joining was symbolic. They were connected on several levels.

Another door had opened in Gary’s psyche. Maybe there was more to life than he had previously envisaged. He’d thought he might have been on a collision course with destruction; that the world was coming to pieces, and he was one of the very last generation that would walk its surface, waiting for inevitable termination. Now, he could foresee a future. His feelings toward Marion transcended violence and sex. He was not just a killer who took life for the sake of the act. He was a connoisseur of death, and would now share that fascination; tutor his new love in the art, so that they could jointly grow and move forward. In Marion, he could see a reflection of his own deepest needs. He would lead her into a new dimension; a marvellous place. Guide her through a portal into a unique world of total freedom, where without hindrance they could explore the dark realm in which he dwelt.