Dead Pretty (18 page)

‘Turn it down,' Angelo said.

Lights came on in Carl's house. Angelo could see him pass across a window. As with most of his life, Angelo was unsure what was going to happen next. They knew where this Richards had lived, about his crimes, and the baby brother he had probably killed. Tony had been good for stories. Maybe Richards had told the mother where he was going now, maybe he'd told them about Lena and Agani, maybe not, but Angelo could not afford to take any chances. It would not be enough to kill Richards if others knew.

‘Are we going to kill them?' the big man asked.

‘Be quiet, I'm thinking.'

Angelo did not like thinking. It never got any easier. Far better to let others like Agani do it, but Agani was gone, and Stellachi was not here, not yet. These two people would not be so easy to get rid of as that Kelly. He went through options in his mind. It could be an accident, maybe a fire, or a car crash, or the man could kill this Julie and then kill himself. Maybe they could just disappear. Yes, that would be best.

Angelo pushed the seat back, and inhaled the opulence of the car along with his smoke. He ran his hands along its leather seats and noted the brushed chrome fittings. He closed his eyes and let the music take him. It was from the hills of his birth, they used to play it in the small café in the village. He'd grubbed in the dirt outside with the big man and others long dead. The big man was the big boy then, always ready to protect him, hurting other boys with increasing pleasure. He'd never changed.

Two kids were watching the car from the opposite pavement. One stuck up a solitary finger to Angelo. Angelo smiled and made a gun shape with his hand and pointed it at the boys. They smiled back, then got scared and ran off into an adjoining lane. Angelo had the real thing in the inside pocket of his jacket. He nudged the big man.

‘Put your cigarette out. It's almost down to your fingers. Come on, we'll leave the car here. I've decided what to do.'

They were both getting old but the big man was still eager. He plodded behind Angelo towards the house, smiling and flexing his fists. Age had not dulled his malice one bit.

‘Are these eggs all right?' Julie asked. ‘they look a bit old.'

Carl was surprised she could think about eating. He thought she'd be in bits about this.

‘It will have to be egg and chips then,' Julie said, ‘you're not exactly stocked up.'

‘Fine. Look, what do you think about this Ireland idea?'

‘We'd be abandoning him. Maybe Mark should be with us. Stick together, like.'

‘What, you want to be a cowboy too?'

‘Don' be stupid, Carl.'

‘Sorry. No, he'd never have it, Jool. I'd never have it. Like I said before, he needs to know you're safe.'

‘He'll be up there by now. On them hills. He used to know them like the back of his hand.'

‘Probably still does. That's a big advantage.'

‘This is all so bloody unreal. Mark used to always go an about films when he was a kid, video mad, he was. Sometimes I thought he got them mixed up with real life. And I feel like that now. That we're all in a bloody horror show. Talking about Mark shooting it out with thugs, trying to stay alive. It's ridiculous.'

‘Maybe. But it's real all right. Come to Ireland with me, Jool. You can keep in touch with him on your mobile.'

Julie put the food on two plates but pushed hers away.

‘I can't eat mine. Don' really see the point.'

‘What's the good in thinking like that?'

‘Whatever happens it's a nightmare. After Shane went I didn't think life could get any worse. And it didn't. It calmed down, became something that never changed, always grey, but I got used to that. Until you come along.'

‘Was Shane Mark's father? Look, you don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to.'

‘His father? Hardly.' Julie stared at Carl and made her decision. ‘Shane was Mark's baby brother. I was stupid then, and got pregnant with some waster off the estate. He wasn't interested and neither was I after I got to know him. He left me with a little boy   Shane. Nothing like that sod, thank God, nothing like Mark either. He was lovely, Carl. Blond hair, blue eyes, Christ knows where he come from. A little scamp, mind. He adored Mark, hung around him all the time. I thought Mark would bugger off when Shane was born but he didn't. It was hard for us at first, but we pulled together. What do they say now? Bonded.'

‘Did Shane pass away?'

‘Maybe. Passed away from us, anyway.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He disappeared. From the garden out the back.'

‘I don't get it.'

‘No, no one did. I'd left him with Mark and had gone shopping. It was a beautiful day, so Mark had him out the back. He answered the phone and when he came back out Shane was gone. Don' you remember about it? It was in all the papers for days, telly, everything. They were around the estate like a cloud of flies.'

‘No, I don't. When was it?'

‘Bout twelve years ago, now.'

‘I was still in the army then. Away somewhere, probably.'

‘There was never no trace of him, Carl. Never. Everyone thought Mark had done something. They always thought he was nuts on the estate anyway. Used to call him Psycho Eyes.'

‘What about you?'

‘I wasn't sure for a while. It was just the way Shane went. They never found nothing, no clothing, no trace of Shane at all. But I know now Mark didn't harm him, that's the one thing I am sure of. Every other thought has gone through my mind though, it's always there, some days worse than others.'

‘Jesus,' Carl whispered, as he pushed his own food away. ‘I had no idea. No one deserves that.'

It was getting harder for Julie to talk.

‘Some of the women up there thought we were in it together. Oh, they give me a social worker, all that stuff. She was all right, too, but all she could offer was words in the end. She said kids had disappeared like that before but it was very rare. No one saw nothing, that was the thing. They were a nosy bunch around me at the best of times but everyone was deaf, dumb and blind that day. We'll never know what happened now. Sometimes I think he might be alive somewhere, with a new life. Maybe living with rich people. Sometimes I think other things.'

Julie was crying freely now. Carl took her to the sofa and held her. A few weeks ago he'd thought he'd met someone for a bit of fun. Someone like him, who'd been around the block a few times and wanted no complications. He'd need to think about this. It put a new slant on Mark. For a black moment Carl wondered if Mark might have turned it all around, that he'd killed Lena and that Agani fella, because she was having it off with him. No, it wouldn't do to go there. He'd have no future with Julie if he did. Future! What the fuck was he thinking off? This was a mess. He'd been better off in the Falklands. At least there you knew who was shooting at you.

Carl kept Julie in his arms for a while, hoping she'd drop off to sleep. He felt her tiny fists pull at his shirt like a baby, as she cried softly and mumbled the occasional word. He was almost falling asleep himself when he heard someone moving around outside.

*

Mark was cold when he woke up. Cold and damp. It had rained in the night. Soft stuff, but enough to gather on his sheet and drip into his bracken shelter. Lying on his back he listened to a dawn chorus of crows, and the nerve locked into their harsh, raw-throated, communal call. They were in the trees at the edge of the forest, gearing up for their day. He'd never liked them, or any other noisy birds. Crows, jays, magpies, gulls, they were all a waste of space. He preferred birds that went quietly about their business, like the hawk that moved above him now. Moving effortlessly, wings trying to catch the weak sun that had struggled out, looking for any nocturnal straggler that was late getting home. The crows saw it and made off with loud warning cries. They made a living down below, and had allied themselves to mankind long ago.

Mark got up and stretched the stiffness out of his neck and the lumps from his back. He was glad it had turned fine again, it would give him a chance to dry out. Sitting on his already shapeless rucksack Mark surveyed his new kingdom. Most foliage around him was browning up and dying, some stuff still grew, but in the last flush of growth. As a kid he'd noticed how thick and green grass was at this time of the year, now it was slicked with dew and shining at the verge of the hill road, lush in the first light. He liked this sense of life turning. It matched his own.

Reluctantly, Mark turned his phone on. He had several voicemails. They would be pleas from Julie. She would have had a night to think over things. She'd want him to turn himself in. He'd blown it. Angelo and the big man should have gone the same way as Agani. Then maybe he'd be running all over the world, but never coming back to Wales. Never bringing trouble home. He'd reverted to type, bolting for the burrow, like all hunted animals. He put the phone to his ear.

It was Angelo's voice.
Mark, your mother wants to talk to you.

Mark froze. Julie's voice was distorted. It had the scalding quality he'd last heard when Shane disappeared, like she was shouting from the bottom of a pit, with all hope shaken out of it.

Mark, listen to me, for Christsake. They come in here. They hurt Carl. He's bad. Get away Mark, don' meet with them …

The phone went dead, but there was another message.

Your mother is upset. We understand. We want to see you, Mark. We'll bring your mother. You say where. Your mother will be our guide. Our helper. We need to hear from you by ten in the morning. It would be best that you phone.

Mark sat down heavily. The time on his phone said eight thirty and Angelo had phoned at two in the morning. He should have checked it again in the night, he'd woken up often enough. This was worse than his worst nightmare. He had to think. If they came up here with Julie, they'd never let them leave alive. She knew too much now.

Mark got the guns out of the rucksack, and checked them. They had his mother, and Carl was probably already dead. They'd killed a man who had nothing to do with this, whose only crime was to walk in on the world of the Richards family.

Mark moved around for a few minutes, trying to get the circulation coursing through his stiff body. He wasn't sure if he was talking to himself, and he jumped whenever he heard a noise. The hawk was still gliding around but Mark didn't look so kindly on it now. He was jealous of the bird's freedom, and its control over its short, uncomplicated life. He phoned Julie's number. It rang ten times before Angelo answered.

‘Ah, Mark, it is you. So you are well?'

Mark wanted to scream and shout down the phone but no words came.

‘Do you want to speak to your mother?'

‘Yes.'

‘Mark! Are you there? They just appeared. Carl's unconscious. Oh God, I can' handle this.'

Angelo was saying something to her.

‘Mark, they want to meet. Want me to take them up to the valley.'

‘All right.'

They wanted an empty space and no people, then it would be a bullet in each of their brains and maybe a trip in the boot of their car to Dungeness. It would be too much fuss to bury two bodies. Carl might already be in the boot. The Lexus was big enough for three. At least he had some time, if they were still down on the coast, but Mark couldn't even be sure of that.

‘Pick a place, my friend. Your mother will guide us.'

‘The churchyard by the pub. She'll know which one, she'll know where.'

‘At ten then,' Angelo said. ‘Don't disappoint. And Mark, please, no tricks. For your mother's sake.'

The phone went dead. Maybe the church wasn't the best spot, he did think of the shrine near the estate, a stone statue on the hillside that had marked his early life, but that would have been crazy, even by his standards. Within minutes the whole estate would have turned out, then the police force. It would have been the Richards' finale, a very public one. No, the church was practically unused now, the people in its ground long dead and unvisited.

The light was a soft yellow, haze rising from the valley floor as the sun gathered strength. Cars on the road again. Maybe this would be the last warm day of the year. His anyway.

Mark forced himself to eat, trying to think of a plan that wasn't pathetic. Trying to think of any plan. Events had been one step ahead of him throughout all of this. He hadn't expected Kelly to get killed, he hadn't expected to kill Agani, and he hadn't expected Angelo to get to Julie and Carl. Carl
must
be dead, they'd never leave him otherwise.

Mark checked the guns again, making sure he knew how to use the automatic. It was easy enough, there was nothing hard about guns. Point, press and shoot. One long steady pull on the trigger and it would shoot its load. Nine slugs that could go anywhere because he had no idea what his aim was like. Agani had been close, can't-miss material.

He packed both guns back in the sack. He packed everything, in fact, like some old warrior going on the final journey, taking his essentials into the next world, but there was no time to think about what came after death, if anything. It was ten minutes to the churchyard, so Mark would have an hour before they came, an hour to come up with something.

Chapter Eleven

‘What was that?' Carl said.

‘I didn't hear nothing.'

‘I did, there's someone outside. Maybe it's just kids.'

Carl checked the window, looking for a gold car. There was the usual assortment of bangers up and down the road, and a black Mercedes farther up, its nose just sticking out from a side road. It was a new version of his car, someone here must be doing OK, Carl thought, as the back door burst open. The big man slammed into him before he managed to turn. Carl saw something blur in his hand, heard Julie scream, then nothing else.

Angelo followed and he slapped Julie hard.

‘You must stop that noise,' he said.

Angelo raised his hand again but Julie stuck hers in her mouth and managed to control herself, despite tasting her blood. Carl had crumpled to the floor, with a huge man standing over him. She tried to go to him but Angelo held her.

‘Leave him. His worries are over.'

‘You haven't killed him?'

Angelo shrugged and half carried her to a chair. He forced her down on it with his hand.

‘Where is your son?'

He asked for Mark but Julie saw Shane. Her last image of him, as she left him in the garden with a reluctant Mark, to go shopping. He was playing on a mound of sand the council had left. His own private beach. The only one he'd ever seen. This was her final punishment for losing him and it came through Mark. Again.

Carl didn't seem to be moving. He was curled up on the floor like a large baby. Like Shane. A brute in an expensive suit stood over him, and winked at her. The suit didn't fit, his body wanted to escape from it, muscles and hard flesh pushed against its seams. There was something in his hand, that thing they used to change car wheels, and she saw a thin trickle of blood seeping from Carl's skull.

‘I see your son has told you about us,' Angelo said. ‘You are frightened, but not surprised.'

‘He hasn't told me nothing.'

‘Maybe this man then. No matter. It's a pity though, a pity for you. Where's Mark?'

‘He's gone away. To Spain.'

‘Really? But he doesn't fly. He
can't
fly.'

Julie just about stopped herself asking how this bastard knew that but she could answer it herself. That bitch Lena. She must have told them everything she knew about Mark. Angelo put his hand over her face. It enveloped her and she thought she was going to choke. She tried to kick out at him, but the man was like a tree. He let her breathe again.

‘Where's Mark?'

‘Look, you can fuckin' kill me but I still won't know. I've never known where he is, not for years I haven't.'

‘He's close. Let's phone him. I think he'd like to know we are here, with you.'

Angelo changed languages and told the big man to get the car and bring it to the front door. He dialled a number and handed Julie the phone. The bastards even knew Marks mobile number, she realised. Angelo's ear pressed close to her mouth as she spoke and she felt his breath on her face. It was sweet, and smelt of mints, and behind that, old garlic. Julie was not sure what words came out. She wanted to tell Mark to get away. She wanted to curse and blame him; she wanted him to live. That came to her as clear as Angelo's lousy breath. Despite all the shit, blind alleys and despair, she wanted Mark to live. She wanted Carl to live and she wanted to live herself.

Julie glanced down at Carl. He'd had no chance and might be dead already. The other man, even bigger than the one that held her, stood over him like a hunter showing off his kill. How could Mark have got mixed up with people like these?

‘Tell him we'll meet with him,' Angelo said.

Julie did what she was told. The numbness she felt was the same as when Shane vanished, but that had come without any warning. She'd had time to think about this. She wished that they'd all kept together. Maybe they would have had a chance then; she knew Mark's capabilities. But he didn't tell her, he couldn't tell her, that had always been their problem. Just the two of them for so long, but their thoughts miles apart, and their tongues locked with the distance. Maybe if Carl hadn't been there Mark might have blurted it all out. Maybe.

The men were talking in another language again. The big one prodded Carl with his foot but got no response.

‘My friend wants to take your man with us,' Angelo said, but we'll come back for him later. He's not going anywhere.'

‘You bastard!' As she shouted, Julie tried to strike up at Angelo's face but he caught her hand and twisted it.

‘So, a little spirit. Like your son. What is your name?'

He twisted harder when she didn't answer. Another millimetre and her wrist would snap.

‘Didn't that slut tell you? I thought you knew everything.'

‘You mean Lena? She just called you the mother. Don't make me ask again.'

‘Julie.'

‘So.'

Angelo repeated it to himself, but had trouble with the ‘J'.

‘You will be our guide. You will be a good guide, then we can talk to your son, work things out.'

‘Like you worked things out with Carl.'

‘That was necessary, he would have caused a fuss. He's not important.'

Julie wanted to launch herself at Angelo again, to try to give back a little pain, but she controlled herself. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. Carl lay a few feet away from her and looked dead, but she had to choke this down – concentrate on staying alive herself.

‘Get what you need,' Angelo said, ‘but don't shut any doors.'

‘I need the toilet.'

‘If I don't see you, even for a second, I'll break one of those pretty wrists.'

Angelo looked at Carl's body.

‘He must have had a thin skull,' he muttered, and, to the big man, ‘I could hit you all day like that and nothing much would happen. When we kill this Richards we'll come back for the one here. We'll take them with us.'

‘And the woman?'

‘Her too, what choice do we have? Then it will be over, and we can get back to business. There'll be no need for Stellachi and Amsterdam will like that.'

‘Let me kill this Mark,' the big man said.

‘Hah, you still feel his boot on your face, eh? Sure, if you want.'

Julie came back into the living room. Angelo's eyes hadn't left her, and she felt dirty, and helpless.

‘You should have a coat,' Angelo said. ‘The sun is out but the wind is quite cold. Summer is over here, what summer you have. We will walk calmly to the car. If anyone sees us, you will also look calm. This makes sense, doesn't it, Shulie?'

They went out the back way, through the flimsy door the big man had demolished. As Julie glanced back at Carl, tears came again to her eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them out.

Carl waited until the footsteps outside faded. Everything he'd learnt in the army had kept him still when he'd come around. That big bugger hit hard, and it had knocked him out before he knew what was happening. All he'd seen was a blur of metal in the man's hand. He hadn't been much help to Julie and he cursed himself for it now, but at least he was alive. Those two bastards thought he was dead, that was a mistake and he had to make it count.

Carl got up unsteadily, his head crushing him with pain. He got to the bathroom, threw up what he'd eaten then doused himself with cold water. He washed the blood from his short hair and felt better. He'd always taken a good shot, and that bastard had connected with the thickest part of his skull. It was not easy to focus, and he felt weak, but thought he could function.

Carl had been conscious for the last few minutes. He didn't know where that church was but he knew how to get to Julie's old estate; he'd worked up that valley, on and off. The church must be on the mountain road on the hillside above.

Carl took the largest kitchen knife he had, not much good against guns, but it was better than nothing. His old assault rifle would be useful now. He'd pick those two off on that hillside no trouble, they'd be dead before they knew what was happening. It would be a pleasure, but it was wishful thinking. If any of them got out of this it would be a miracle. There was always the police, but it was too late for them now. This was hardly a usual occurrence down here. Ex-local now London private eye shooting it out with Albanian gangsters on a Welsh hillside. They'd just think he was barking and would faff around until it was too late.

Carl drank some water, found his car keys and went out the front door of the house. Getting to his car was harder than he thought and his left arm seemed to be stiffening up. These guys were not so clever. They should have done more than just prod him with a foot, even the greenest kids in the army knew that. They were too cocky by half and perhaps he could make them pay. They were only a few miles in front, and this time it would be their turn to be surprised.

The sun was well up now and Mark was hot and sweaty by the time he reached the church. He sat on a fallen headstone and drank from his bottle of water. There was no one about, and the pub further down the road was not open yet. That kid would be cleaning out the bar, and counting down the days. If there was shooting it would carry for miles here, but it was not uncommon on the hillside. He doubted if anyone around these parts could tell the difference between a shotgun and a hand-gun.

The hawk was still out, wheeling above him, checking out this figure in the churchyard. It was looking for food and Mark knew how prey felt now. Creatures always on the look out for danger, and death the penalty for missing it. He'd always been the strong one, the hunter, now he too had become furtive, seeing danger everywhere. The hawk's outspread wings caught the light, and looked like a gold fan for a moment. Mark raised a hand to it and it veered away.

Carl was out of the picture, and they had Julie. Angelo and his big friend would think they were home and dry, but that might make them over-confident. They'll want to get me into their car, Mark thought, try to avoid any action out in the open. They'll try to make me think they'll let Julie go, give me a snippet of hope, but that's something I abandoned four days ago.

Mark looked around for the best place to stash the automatic. He placed it in a gap of the grave of a woman who'd died before she was forty. He read her headstone. A teacher. Watch over that for me, he murmured. Then he went to the middle of the graveyard. Let them come out here for me, he thought, let them disarm me, and search the bag. It was a gamble. He might not be able to get at the other gun, they might shoot him and Julie out of hand. If the kid came running up from the pub he might get it too, they weren't particular. But at least a plan had formed, such as it was.

Mark opened his sack and found an apple. He was surprisingly calm. It was very quiet here, just the faintest of road noises from down below, and the hawk above calling a few times, a thin-pitched cry, wanting him to be gone from its domain. It was very still, as if nature knew what was about to unfold, and had stopped to watch. He thought of Lena and Paris, when it had came upon him that he was happy, for the first time in his life. Such a strange sensation that he didn't know what it was at first. Something seemed to grow inside, that put a cloak over all the bad times, and drew him out into a world he'd glimpsed before, but had never thought his.

Mark ate the apple and threw the stump over the church wall, attracting the attention of a pair of magpies. As he watched their display of blue-black and white he saw a car climbing the hill road, just for a second before it was out of sight again. Something large and black, not a gold Lexus, but he knew it was them. He felt inside his coat for the Smith and Wesson. Julie was alive, but he had just minutes to keep her that way.

The car was getting nearer now, then it was out in the open, a few hundred yards from the church. Mark had positioned himself so that the church blocked out any view from the pub. If anyone else appeared, maybe someone deciding to visit the long dead, it would be too bad.

The first thing Carl did was drive into the kerb. His vision was not too good. He reached the motorway, and sped along it, flashed by more than one speed camera. I'll lose my licence, he thought, ha ha. He'd almost lost his life, and was about to gamble it again. He did drop his speed to seventy though, it wouldn't do to be chased by the police now.

He was on the road to the valley in thirty minutes, but there was no sign of the black Merc. The back of his head pulsated with pain and each beat clouded his eyes. His vision was clear for a few moments then blurred again, as if the car's wipers were working on his eyes, and his arm was getting worse. A few cars beeped him as he swung too far to their side of the road, and he was bleeding again. He felt it drip onto his neck, then down his shirt.

Carl was climbing into forestry. The sun was out but the landscape was still bleak, every tree mimicked the next, in dull, dark green. He'd never been a man for the great outdoors, there'd been enough fresh air in the Falklands to last him a lifetime. More than once down there he'd felt stuff whizz past his head and wondered if the next round had his name on it. He'd been glad to get away from that bloody cove, to feel a fresh wind in his face rather than the smell of diesel burning that settled into his guts. Better to be shot clean than burnt to a crisp, like some of the boys, he'd thought. Until he was actually shot at. He'd got through that but here he was again, in another crazy situation not of his own making. Julie said that Mark attracted trouble like shit-flies and maybe that was true about him too. It was usually his patrol that had been in the thick of it in Belfast, but he'd been protected by his age then. Not quite twenty and thinking he'd live for ever, and playing at soldiers was still exciting, a natural progression from the games on the estate he played with his mates. Some of them had got into serious troubles over the years, some had sorted themselves and escaped, some, like him, went into the army. A sort of halfway house towards respectability. So he wasn't that different to Mark, just a bit luckier.