Numb: A Dark Thriller (10 page)

12

Wind mixed with rain gushed in through the broken window, blowing his hair fiercely as he stamped down on the accelerator, pushing the engine with ease up to seventy miles an hour as he weaved between a taxi and a double-decker, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fleeing Peugeot any second. This road ran straight for over a mile without a turn off and the traffic was relatively light. That combined with the Aston’s more-than-average acceleration meant he should be catching up quick.

The inside of the car was filled with broken glass from the shattered windows, his seat covered with it and Riley assumed it would be cutting him to ribbons, but he couldn’t think about that now. Someone had tried to kill Nash,
may
have killed him - plus several others. Nash lived a dangerous life and maybe in the eyes of some deserved to go down in a hail of bullets. Not Michael junior though. Not the man who’d been gut shot or the woman who might have a limp for the rest of her life. No, not the innocent, and Riley couldn’t help feeling he’d failed them.

He
was security, damn it!
He
should’ve done something!

I
will
do something..
.

As the riverside came into view up ahead, he spotted the Peugeot darting between the traffic and he sped up more. He couldn’t hear any sirens or see any flashing blue lights. The amount of police patrolling the city centre on a Friday night and he hadn’t passed a single one. Typical. But, in a way, that was a good thing. He wanted to sort this himself – even though, at this minute, he had no idea what he was going to do when he caught up.

Within a few seconds, and with some careful driving, he managed to get right behind them, causing the driver of a blue Skoda to slam on his brakes and sound his horn madly.

Riley saw the passenger in the Peugeot glance back through the rear window and then yell something to the driver.

The Peugeot suddenly upped its speed.

They knew he was chasing them, Riley guessed. A car like this, even without the bullet holes, hardly blended in with the traffic. Still, what could he do from behind the wheel? He couldn’t hope to ram them off the road as the Peugeot looked far sturdier than the Aston. But they couldn’t outrun him and so he assumed his best bet was just to follow them for now. Wherever this little chase would end, he’d be right on top of them and ready. The fact that they had a gun didn’t faze him as they hadn’t fired at him since he’d started the chase. If he was in that position he would’ve pulled over and when the guy in the car behind got out he’d shoot him dead. Simple as that. There was an automatic weapon in the car up ahead. Why were they not using it? Were they out of ammo? Where they panicking? Why run? He was only one man – and unarmed!

All this led Riley to one conclusion. The two people in the Peugeot were amateurs. They were nervous. He could see the two of them glancing at each other, the passenger waving his hands frantically for the driver to do something. Speed up! Lose this guy for Christ sake!

So who the hell are you two?

As they hit the road that led to the Thirn Bridge that would take them over to the north side of the river, the Peugeot suddenly made a sharp right and sped down an alley parallel to the river.

The manoeuvre took Riley by surprise.

He slammed on the brakes. The Aston’s wheels locked and the car skidded past the junction.

“Fuck!”

Riley reversed and lost precious seconds before continuing the chase.

He lost one of the Aston’s wing mirrors to the side of an old building as he sped after the Peugeot at sixty miles an hour through the alley that was barely wider than the Aston itself. A minute later and back on a busier road, the Peugeot crossed straight over a roundabout, causing other panicked drivers to brake and swerve and at least two vehicles to collide. Riley followed in the same vein, the Aston bouncing up the kerbed edge of the roundabout and over the grass mid-section before bouncing back onto the road on the other side.

A minute later, the Peugeot headed through a darkened industrial estate and Riley had made up the lost ground by the time both cars hit a patch of wasteland by the river, not far from the ferry landing.

The terrain wasn’t as firm here, the rain having softened the earth and the Aston was loosing some of its traction, its wheels spinning, its engine roaring despite the car barely moving. Luckily the Peugeot seemed to be struggling just as much.

As it attempted to make another sharp right to head towards the ferry landing, its wheels started to spin also, throwing up mud and grit in a dirty spray, rendering it stationary.

Riley saw his moment and forced the Aston’s twelve cylinder engine into overdrive, fumes bellowing out of the exhaust as he drove sluggishly into the back end of the Peugeot, spinning it to the left.

He revved harder, pushing the other vehicle into the side of an old factory building that ran along the riverbank, jamming it against the chipped brickwork, trapping the occupants inside.

Then, still not planning ahead, Riley jumped out and raced towards the Peugeot.

He could now see both men were wearing hooded tops, both of them hiding their faces. He could also see the passenger had the gun level with his chest. He was shouting at the driver who was frantically trying to get the car out of its trapped position by yanking at the steering wheel and changing gears like his life depended on it – which it did.

Neither of them were looking at Riley as he ran at the vehicle and jumped up from the ground. Using his momentum he stamped one foot through the passenger window. It shattered into a thousand round fragments in the blink of an eye.

Both men sat up in their seats. Their heads snapped round to face him. Riley tried to catch a glimpse of skin colour or any facial features in the shadows caused by their hoods but didn’t try for long. He needed to take out the gun. Even though he assumed it was empty, he wanted to take it out first just in case. So he drove an elbow into the passenger’s nose before knocking the Uzi from his hand.

Another three elbows in the same place and the man went limp. His hood fell back.

He’s black. Clean shaven. No scars or anything.

Then, as the driver continued to rev the engine and shake the steering wheel in an effort to get moving, Riley clamped his hands around the passenger’s neck, ready to drag him out of the car, assuming that if he could only get one of them it would be better than nothing.

As he pulled the door open, ready to drag the passenger out head first, he saw movement on the periphery of his vision and the bottom fell out of his stomach, like it does when you realise you’re in trouble.

And Riley
was
in trouble. The gun wasn’t out of ammo. The men had obviously just been too shocked by Riley’s heroics to think about shooting. He knew that now because the driver was no longer revving the engine. No, he was picking up the Uzi, and then he was reaching over his prone companion, pointing the weapon at Riley, barely six inches from his stomach, his finger ready to squeeze the trigger.

Riley saw a hint of pale skin beneath the hood that made him assume the man to be Caucasian. Then he slammed the car door closed and dove low to the left a split-second before seeing the muzzle flash and hearing several rounds plough through the side door of the Peugeot as if it were made of nothing stronger than cardboard.

He ran for cover behind the Aston Martin and stayed their even when he heard the driver rev the engine again and finally manage to get the Peugeot moving, scraping away from the Aston and the brickwork on the other side.

Riley looked up as he heard it pick up speed and saw it head away across the wasteland. Then he jumped back in the Aston ready to resume the chase despite the fact that the steering was all screwed up and that the front wheels barely moved and that steam was now spewing from the crumpled bonnet.

After going about twenty yards, the engine made a series of grunts and groans and coughs, like a mechanical asthma attack. Then it gave a final wheeze and died.

Obviously Aston’s couldn’t do the things they did in the Bond movies.

After thirty seconds of trying to get the engine going again, Riley gave up and punched the steering wheel in anger. The horn honked briefly, as if hurt by the blow and Riley climbed out into the drizzle and watched the Peugeot’s lights dissipate into the night.

“Shit.”

Then he looked around and realised he was in the middle of nowhere with no transport.

“Double shit.”

He reached into his pocket for his mobile and saw the rip in his jacket. Then he saw the blood staining the fabric of his shirt underneath. It was spreading fast.

“Make that treble shit.”

Riley lifted his shirt and looked at the bullet wound. It was on his right side, just above his hipbone. He looked at his back, following the bullet’s trajectory through his body. There wasn’t an exit wound. The car door must have taken a lot of the power out of it. It was bleeding quite heavily but it wasn’t streaming or squirting all over. Just a fine, constant trickle. It would still need seeing to, though.

First things first...

He pulled out his phone and called Purvis, who answered on the first ring.

“Riley, are you okay?”

“I lost them.” He pressed a hand against his side to stem the flow of blood. “There were two of them. I almost had them. What’s going on back there?”

“It’s bad,” Purvis said, his voice shaking. “Four people shot. Nash is alive. He caught one in the shoulder. A bloke got gut shot quite bad and a woman got hit in the leg but should be fine.”

“Who’s the fourth?” Riley asked.

“Michael junior,” Purvis said. “He’s dead.”

The news didn’t shock Riley. The only thing he was surprised at was that there had been only one fatality.

“I’m near the river,” he told Purvis, “where the old steelworks used to be. Can you pick me up?”

“Yeah, of course, I’ve only had a couple of drinks, and I’m sober as a judge after what’s happened. Where’s the Aston?”

“Just pick me up.” Riley looked at the bullet wound again. At the trickling blood. So dark and thick. “Quick as you can.”

He hung up and leant back against the ruined Aston Martin to catch his breath, the Aston Martin that had been Michael junior’s for less than a minute before he was killed.

Riley ran his eyes over the bullet holes and broken windows and the twisted front wheels and battered bonnet still spewing steam.

After what had just happened back at the club, at least Nash wouldn’t be bothered about the damage.

13

Purvis arrived fifteen minutes later, pulling his Mazda next to the stricken Aston Martin.

“Jesus!” he said as he climbed out and inspected the damage. Then he saw the blood on Riley’s jacket. “Fuck! You okay?”

“It’s nothing.” Riley waved him away and climbed in the Mazda, keeping his hand firmly on the wound to stop blood leaking onto the upholstery.

“Did you get shot?” Purvis asked as he climbed behind the wheel and spun off the wasteland back towards the road.

Riley shook his head.

“I kicked through their window and must’ve got cut,” he lied. “It’s nothing, just one of those that bleeds a lot.”

“Do you want me to take you to hospital?”

“No. Let’s just get back to the club.” Riley wanted to get his own car. He had somewhere to go. Somewhere private. “So... Michael junior bought it?”

Purvis nodded as he joined the traffic and headed back towards the city centre. A police car sped past them in the other direction, lights flashing, sirens blaring. Pity they were twenty minutes too late, Riley thought.

“I didn’t inspect him up close,” Purvis said, “but it looks like he caught a few bullets in the back and one in the head. The head shot went all the way through and into Nash’s shoulder. In a way, he saved his dad’s life.”

“So what’s happening back there now?”

“I don’t know. The police and ambulances were just arriving when I pulled away.”

“Sandra and Wendy okay?”

“Physically they are but they’ve both had a hell of a shock to the system. Wendy was crying her eyes out when I left and Sandra was shaking like a leaf. I said I’d be back as soon as possible and take them home.” He sighed. “Why, Riley? Why did they do it?”

“Don’t you mean
who
did it?” Riley said, lifting up his shirt a little and inspecting the damage. It was still leaking blood, but it had slowed a little. He wasn’t feeling weak or light-headed yet and that was good. He’d obviously not lost that much blood. He just had to keep calm for another half an hour or so and he be fine.

“Who do you
think
did it?” Purvis asked, sarcastically. “It’s got to be Dainton. He’s the only one big enough to take on Nash. None of the smaller gangs would risk pulling something like this.”

“Why now though?” Riley asked. “Things have been quiet between the two firms for years now. What has Nash done recently to piss Dainton off so much he’d want him dead?”

Purvis shrugged.

“You know how things are in this game. If someone’s got a grudge against you or wants you out of the way for their own benefit then you don’t have to have done anything.”

Grudge against you?
Riley thought.
Out of the way for their own
benefit?

That sounded a little too close to home.

“But Dainton’s gone too far this time,” Purvis then said, almost to himself. “This is bad, very bad...”

Riley didn’t reply and the two of them sat in silence until they reached the club, Purvis pulling up a hundred yards from the crime scene where six police cars and fours ambulances blocked the scene of death but illuminated it in silent, flashing blue lights that had attracted quite a crowd of onlookers.

“The police’ll want statements,” Purvis said as he switched off the engine. “Especially from you. Did you see what they looked like?”

Two men, one black, one white, at a guess they were probably both in their mid to late twenties, both amateurs, probably their first hit... and it didn’t smell like Dainton’s work to me...

“No, they were both wearing hoods,” he said, not wanting to tell Purvis anything. Not yet, at least. “You go check on the girls.” He climbed from the car.

“Where are you going?” Purvis asked.

“To get this looked at,” Riley said, pointing to his side.

“See one of the paramedics.”

“Thanks for picking me up.”

“What about the police? Some of the guests would’ve told them that you chased after the shooters. They’ll want to talk to you.”

“Tell them I’ve gone to hospital.”

“Which one?”

“There’re only three in the city. If they want me, they’ll find me. I’ll call you later.”

Riley hurried around the back of the club where his own car was parked and managed to go unnoticed by the police, paramedics and scores of onlookers. Luckily, the police hadn’t yet sealed off the back of the building and he had no trouble driving out of the car park and away from the crime scene.

As he drove, keeping his right elbow against his stomach, applying pressure to his injury, he tried not to think about what had happened tonight and what may happen tomorrow because of it. Those things would have to wait for now. He had to get himself fixed up first.

He punched a familiar number into his phone, one that wasn’t saved on the memory card but saved in his mind for extra security.

It was time to visit an old friend.