Keeping with Killers (The Salingers Book 1) (4 page)

Blake had trouble taking it all in. Too much had happened, and too soon. Was this man an attacker or a saviour? Why was he here? Whatever the reason, he was obviously well advanced in hand-to-hand combat, and he was jeopardising Blake's case of appeal. Blake wouldn't have a hand in this, and wouldn't want it to appear that way. As soon as he got out of here -
if
he got out of here - he would report it to the nearest officer.

The silver-haired man pointed at him, panting heavily. He looked like a fighting machine. A furious one. 'You're Val's boy.'

Was it a question? Blake didn't know, but found himself nodding frantically anyway.

The mysterious attacker removed the fire extinguisher from the wall and threw it into Blake's chest, who clumsily wrapped his arms around it to catch it. The solid metal banged against his knuckles. He had never been good at handling pain.

'Keep to my side, use that whenever I say.'

'Wha–'

The man moved quickly, as if nothing had just happened. As if this was an everyday thing for him. He grabbed the fountain pen from the table - the detectives probably wouldn't be needing it any time soon - and dragged Wilkes up from the floor, an arm around his neck, restraining him like a hostage. He put the pen to his neck, kept it there as a threat.

Wilkes groaned, drifting in and out of consciousness.

'I said stay close,' the man snapped.

Reluctant, Blake moved closer.

Silver Hair sprung open the door and moved through, dragging a semi-conscious detective with him. Blake caught a glimpse of the main hall. He didn't know why, but his eyes fixed onto a young man who looked to be a junior officer; the way he spun around on his chair and saw what Silver Hair was doing. It was as though his eyes were scanning the situation and, when they had acquired the information, there was a flicker of understanding behind them. Was that absent look the same as the one
he
had given?

Blake snapped out of it, shaking his head. He fumbled the fire extinguisher as he stood, picking it up again. He hadn't ever thought that one of these would be so damn heavy.

'Beside me!' The silver-haired man grunted.

Blake caught up, fidgeting nervously. Was he really doing this? He scurried to the man's side, edging along the outer wall with their backs to it. More policemen turned to the commotion one by one, each with a unique look of confusion and alarm. He would have found it funny if he had seen it on TV, but the reality of it was frightening. There wasn't a thing he wouldn't give to wake up from this nightmare, warm in his bed.

'Listen here,' Silver Hair screamed. The room immediately grew quiet. 'Anyone touches an alarm, this young gent takes a biro to the neck.' He stopped underneath a security camera, feeling around with each foot before he placed it. Blake almost walked into him. 'See above me?' he said, his voice lowered a little. 'Dowse it when I say.'

Blake barely had time to blink before the command was barked at him. Silver Hair lunged forward, cutting across half of the room. Blake squeezed the trigger on the fire extinguisher, hosing the camera with a white blast of cloudy foam. He stepped backwards, still spraying. He understood now–it kept their faces off the camera. Eliminated any further evidence of their escape. Blake almost admired it, though he didn't know how much it would really do to help them.

Who the hell is this man?

Blake caught up and they kept moving. One officer tried to take a dive at them, but Silver Hair yelled quick enough for Blake to turn and spray the extinguisher again, right into the cop's eyes.
Man, that must have stung. I'm so sorry.
Still, he knew that it'd had to be done.

'Keep it forward!' from the man again, nodding up at another camera. This one was above the door that Blake had come through only minutes ago, where the sour-faced bitch had buzzed them in. She was gone now, though God only knew where–probably cowered down behind the desk, he thought.

Silver Hair pushed Wilkes to the floor. His body hit the ground with a thud.

Blake noticed his hands begin to shake. Whatever was about to happen, he didn't know if he could go through with it. It was clear to him now that this man was here to help him - to save him - but the question was… from what? He couldn't go back to his life now.

Could he?

Chapter 5

The room was as dark as it ever had been; the bulbs from the main light had been long since removed, and even the desktop lamp was kept at its dimmest. It had to be like that–he had been sensitive to bright lights for as long as he could remember. The doctors called it photophobia, though it was more of a pain than it was a phobia.

The security screens behind his desk were set darker than most, making them hard to see details. But at least it didn't hurt to look at them anymore. The aquarium, which had been built into three of the room's walls, had a backlight that was almost too much to bear. But at least the feature offered some calm comfort.

As The Boss sat at his desk, flicking through the newspapers and trying to keep ahead of current events, the buzzer shook violently beside him. It was a disruptive noise that pissed him off every time he heard it. He gave a tut, slapped his paper onto his desk and pressed the button on the intercom. 'I told you I was not to be disturbed.'

'I'm sorry, sir. There's a problem with the Salinger project.' The voice came through the speakers, clear as daylight. That was what all the money in the world could afford.

'Very well.' He took his finger off the button and flicked the switch beside it, buzzing the assistant into the room. As the door opened, he could see that the lights had been switched off in the hallway. It was a relief that his right-hand man was getting used to how things should be done around here.

The tall man stepped inside, his long hair tied back behind his head. His glasses were too large for his face, comically so, and they kept slipping down his nose. The Boss had always found this man amusing; especially the nervous way that he would creep on eggshells whenever he got near. But all pathetic mannerisms aside, the man was loyal, devoted, and knew exactly what he was doing. That was why he trusted him.

'What is it, Pimms?' The last thing he wanted today was bad news.

His assistant closed the door behind him and timidly strolled across the room, and dropped a small collection of files on his lap as he sat across from his employer.

'I'm so sorry, sir,' he said. With a shaking hand, he fidgeted with his glasses. 'You asked me to keep you well informed of the Salinger case.'

The Boss sat back in his chair, cracking his knuckles. This didn't sound good. 'Well?'

'Well, I…' Pimms looked down at the floor, up at the glass wall, and then into The Boss's eyes. It was clear that he didn't want to deliver the news. 'The boy was taken into custody not one hour ago. We believed he was taking the rap.'

Take a deep breath.
'Is he not?' He sighed, rubbed his eyes with the curves of his knuckles and sat back into his chair. 'You assured me everything was taken care of. Were you lying to me?'

'No! Sir, I–'

'Then where is he?' The Boss could feel himself gritting his teeth. His dentist had warned him not to do that–another bad habit he was trying to break free of.

Pimms shook out of control, rapping his fingertips on the paper in his lap. Even his leg was bobbing up and down on its heel. 'He was at East Turn Police Station.'

'I asked you where he
is
, not where he
was
.'

'Yes, s-sir. I'm sorry. It… it seems that he had a little help. From one of your own.'

The Boss looked at him, crooked an eyebrow. 'Our own? You mean–'

'Yes, sir. We believe he's turned. Last we heard, they were heading through the city. The police should… I mean, they
will
take care of it.'

'They better. It's what I pay them for.' The Boss rose from his chair, took slow, steady steps around his office.
This is supposed to be a place of zen. '
I want to know some things.'

The assistant craned his neck, looking paranoid, frightened and small. 'Anything, sir.'

The Boss wasn't a big man. In school they had given him the nickname of
Titch
and, like most nicknames, the recipient didn't like it. Only a few short months ago somebody had made a mockery of his build in a restaurant. The Boss's associates then taught the man some manners, and soon he came crying, humbled to The Boss. That man was now on the payroll, though his new disability left him unable to work anywhere but at a desk.

Trying to remain calm, The Boss stopped at the fish tank and watched the peaceful animals that he so badly envied; their entire lives were tranquil and serene. They didn't have to work or worry. Feeding time would come and they would be fed. It seemed as simple as that. No stress, no anxieties… no failures. 'How did you come to learn of this?'

'Wilkes checked in,' Pimms's voice came from behind. 'He was ruffled up pretty bad.'

The Boss chortled. 'By Salinger?'

'No, s-sir. It seems our man did some damage before he broke out of there.'

He could feel his blood begin to boil. His hands balled into tight fists. The Boss was grinding his teeth again. 'What the
hell
does he think he's doing?' He turned back to his assistant, staring at him and waiting for answers.

Pimms began to tremble. His voice clarified his intimidation. 'I don't know, sir. But we have eyes on him for as long as the police do. Salinger, too.'

The Boss took a deep breath, tried to steady his nerves. He could feel his face getting red and he was getting a little shaky. The doctor had warned him about his blood pressure and, until now, he had started to keep it in check. Breathing fiercely through his nose, he took a seat at his desk, tucked one hand under the other, and rested his chin on them. 'I want them finished. Now.'

'Finished, sir? Both of them?'

'Dead. Gone. Done for.'

Pimms fussed with his glasses, apparently unsure of where to rest his hands. 'There's still a chance that our agent has an agenda that benefits–'

'Then he should have sought my permission!' He slammed his fist on his desk, making his assistant jump. 'Get out of my sight. And get the detectives over here as soon as you can. I'll be wanting words with them.'

'Sir.' Pimms stood, turned, and scurried away as quickly as he could.

'Pimms,' The Boss said, stopping him dead in his tracks. 'Don't fail me again.'

His assistant nodded and closed the door behind him, leaving him alone with his thoughts, his fish, and a brand new headache. This was terrible news for The Agency, and he would have to tend to it quickly.
How hard could it be to keep eyes on a bloody salesman? I own half of London, for Christ's sake.
His staff were becoming an embarrassment that he could no longer entertain.

The Boss picked up his pen, tore a fresh sheet of paper off his pad, and began to conjure up some fresh ideas on how to punish his agent when he reacquires him. Creating pain for people was what he had always been good at. Weak spots had a way of showing themselves to him–that's how me managed to own the politicians.

The ones that mattered, anyway.

Chapter 6

They had used Wilkes's keys to get in his personal vehicle. The man had pretty much thrown Blake into the back seat, like a hostage, and then climbed into the front and brought the car to life. It was a nice car - a black Mercedes, shiny and clean - but Blake had the feeling that it wouldn't stay that way.

The tyres screeched, kicking up puffs of white smoke. The engine revved and roared, slinging them out of the spot they were in, and sent them speeding away from the police station. The police cars were close behind.

Blake sat forward in the back, clinging onto the passenger seat as if it were his long-lost child. He had never been comfortable in fast vehicles, least of all in an uncontrollable environment. It seemed like half of London was on their tail, and he was heading in an unknown direction with a crazy bastard that he didn't know if he could trust.

'Who are you?' he tried to ask, slipping from left to right at the sharp turns. It was difficult to stay upright. 'Why are you helping–'

'Listen,' Silver Hair said, pulling desperately at the steering wheel, 'we'll talk as soon as we're out of here, but for now I'm going to need your help. Look behind us, tell me exactly what you see.'

He wasn't sure if he could do it. Turning his head meant letting go of the seat, and that seemed far too dangerous to him. The odds were not in his favour, and he
always
considered the odds. 'I don't…' Blake gagged. Swallowed it. 'I don't know.'

They rounded the corner and came onto a long, busy stretch of road. They picked up speed, swerving between other drivers on the road. Drivers were leaning on their horns, sirens wailed in the background. Blake could hear people yelling their complaints, but they were long gone by the time they could finish their sentences.

'
How many?'
the silver-haired man screamed at him.

That kicked him into gear immediately. He spun his head around. Tried to be as informative as possible. After all, this didn't seem like a man he would want to upset any time soon. 'Six cars,' he said, unsure if the last one he counted was the same one he had seen behind a VW Camper only a few second ago. 'Two bikes, catching up,' he added.

'Good. Now I need you to do something: put your seatbelt on, and get ready to open your door.' He spun the wheel again, flinging the car around a group of pedestrians who were crossing the road. He put his foot down, and they picked up speed.

Blake flew forward in his seat, stumbling onto the handbrake. He quickly sat back.
Open my door? Is he crazy?
'Nu-uh.' He shook his head, biting down on his lower lip. 'There's no way I'm jumping out of a moving vehicle. Not at this speed.'

The man turned his head for a second, raised an eyebrow at Blake. 'You're not rolling out anywhere,' he said. 'Just do as I tell you.' He turned his eyes back to the road, where he continued to manoeuvre between the other cars.