Raucous (15 page)

CHAPTER FORTY THREE

Rollin smiled as he walked out of his office.  It was a big gamble.  He didn’t know, could never be sure, but he would never admit that now.  The Turk had set out to kill but had driven Christian home.  Rollin smiled and couldn’t stop.  It all comes to a patient man, and if he were anything he were patient.  And now, as soon as the doors to the lift closed and Christian was escorted to an apartment he had designed for private use, he would make a call he had wanted to make for more than twenty years.

******************************************************************

“I didn’t know where to go,” Christian had said.

The reception buzzed Rollin as soon as they saw Christian.  Rollins had given notice, photos and personal presence.  They all knew that the kid was to be treated with respect and calm.  Nobody let him leave, call Rollin immediately.  Nothing else, and that really meant nothing else, would be more important than the prodigal son strolling home.

Rollin rode the lift down to the ground floor.  It stopped and opened once.  Rollin stared at the man and woman who wanted to step in.  They had worked there long enough to know Rollin.  The man smiled,

“We’ll take the next one,” he said.

Rollin walked out into the reception and saw the guards staring between him and Christian.  They wanted to know, wanted the truth, but would be just as happy making their own theories stronger by joining half-facts together in a web of half-arsed coffee morning chatter.

Jean saw Rollin coming and walked toward him.  The Guard stood but Rollin sat him down by raising his right palm.

“Sure, you didn’t.  There are people not telling you the truth,” Rollins told Christian as the elevator doors closed. 

“They tried to kill me,” Jean said.

“Who?”

Rollin was alert.  Someone broke his orders.

“The Turk, I think.  The twins anyway.  Raucous was there too-”

Rollin reacted to the name.

“Raucous was involved in the attempt?”

“He was there, but he stopped one killing me.  I don’t know which one.  I killed him.  Shot him through the face.”

“The other twin?”

“I killed him too.”

Rollin looked at Christian, unbelieving, a story his information could not support.

"Are you sure?" he said.

“I shot him, point blank in the chest.  He is definitely dead.”

“The police?”

“I don’t know.  The fire brigade know, I saw them heading out as I headed in.”

Rollin again gave a look asking for more information.

“I set the car, the twin and the money on fire.  It went up quickly.”

The lift arrived at the top.  The door pinged open into the vast open space. 

Rollin stepped out and pointed at his receptionist.

“I need you to check on a fire from last night," he said.  "I would like nothing to be found or connected to anyone I know."

Next he pointed at a security guard as the secretary dialed numbers.

"And you, show Christian here to the apartment.  He needs to relax and sleep.”

Rollin turned to Christian.

“You are obviously free to go," he said.  "Leave as and when you want.  There are no locks, no secret codes and security will not stop you.  But, until I have had the time to investigate a little, I would implore you to stay here in relative safety.  No one here will try and shoot you, will they Mrs. Jenas?”

The secretary looked up.

“I left my gun at the door,” she said.

******************************************************************

Rollin returned to the lift.  Christian watched.  Rollin reassured with a smile.  The security guard took Christian by the arm and led him to a side door.  The elevator doors closed.  Rollin dialled on his smart-phone.  It rang twice.

“Parker?  Good.  We need to set up an audience with the Turk.

CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

The Turk had to think fast.  He was too old and too out of shape to beat this physically, he had to use his brain, he had to use the information he had.  They were trying to scare him, make him give something up.  The same objective as detectives with their flash show of power.  An old technique to put the scares on people.  It was bullshit.  But Parker had brought it. 

He wouldn’t give it up, couldn’t.  What he had on them was the only thing keeping him alive.  But something had changed, the news of arrests?  The media articles in cheap trash papers about men at the top of politics quaking at the prospect of discovery.  Sir Alex hadn’t been mentioned, not even alluded to, but he was scared all the same.  He was transferring that to The Turk.  He needed a release, but the Turk was safe.  This was just a shake-up, a test to see if he would break.

The Turk couldn’t see anything.  They had placed a cloth bag over his head in his own office.  Tied his hands behind him with those plastic secure locks, bundled him into the boot of a car.  It must be a SUV, probably Parker’s, because a normal little car wouldn’t have space for the Turk.

The Turk bounced around, uncomfortable and cold.  Ten minutes he calculated, not a long drive and the roads were always smooth.  They hadn’t taken him into the country.  This was a good sign.  Into the country meant being buried.  The City meant they wanted to talk.  Talking he could do, convincing with words.  He was safe.  This was just to scare.  He hadn’t given them up before and he wouldn’t now.

They removed his hood after they had tied him to a chair.  The Turk looked around the room.  It was an abandoned place.  The windows were boarded outside, light breaking through the cracks.  The walls were stained with patches of damp, the floor nothing but old boards.  The only furniture was the wooden chair to which he was tied.  Parker and Sir Alex stood in front of him.  Parker held the hood in his right hand, a black sports hold-all at his feet.

“What is happening?”  Parker asked.

“What?”

“Let’s not go through a denial stage, it will take too long and be painful.  What did you want with Christian?”

“What are you talking about?”

Parker looked to Sir Alex, who nodded.  Parker stepped forward and slapped the Turk’s face with his open right hand.

“Please don’t bullshit us, Francis."

The Turk gave an angry stare.

"Are you angry at the slap or your real name?"  Sir Alex asked.  "I'll not call you Turk, Francis.  That's a name you believe to be of respect.  I have none."

The Turk refused to relax.  He bucked against his ties.  He knew he couldn't break them, but he needed to show something.

"As you are very aware, the whys and hows of what happened are of great concern to me.”

The Turk shook again.

“The police come to me," The Turk said.  "They ask about my acquaintances, famous people who have special tastes.”

“Do you mention names?”  Sir Alex asked.

“Only the ones who have been in the papers.”

“And more specifically who would they be?”

“The DJ, and that circle of friends.”

“My name was not mentioned?  Is that correct?”

“No one knows of our relationship.  They never have.”

Sir Alex looked at Parker and shrugged.  He returned his gaze to The Turk.

“Not exactly true, but I understand what you mean,” he said.

“I tell them nothing and they leave.  They are quiet conversations.  A fishing trip.  They leave without anything.  But they could leave with something.”

“Do they threaten you?”

"I can't be threatened," The Turk said.

“Because someone has a theory, and the right one I should add.  And now they are trying to prove themselves right.”

“There is no proof.”

Sir Alex indicated to Parker with a slow nod.  Parker stepped forward and kicked the Turk’s right knee.  The Turk felt the pain ride up to his hip.  He gasped.  And his kneecap throbbed.

“In our last conversation," Sir Alex said.  "You insinuated you had an insurance policy against me, would you like to elaborate?”

“I have nothing on you.”

Sir Alex indicated to Parker again.  Parker produced a small metal bar from inside his jacket pocket.  And stepped forward.

“OK, I have some documents, some photos.  They are from a long time ago.  I needed assurances back then.”

“We need assurances right now.”

“They are safe.”

“Where are they safe?”

“They can’t be found.”

“So if I were to kill you, they would never see the day.  Correct?”

“If I die they’ll be released.”

“So they are not all that safe?”

“As long as I am alive.”

“So we come to an impasse.”

Sir Alex stepped back.  He nodded to Parker, who stepped forward.

“I understand your worries," Turk said, his voice clicking.  "Thirty years without being touched.  And you didn’t live in the public conscience.  Hell, you got sympathy.  Your wife died and you were broken hearted and you never remarried.  There is nothing on you.”

“But there appears to be something on you," Sir Alex said.  "And that worries me.  Particularly if you have these documents.”

“They are safe.”

“As you keep saying.”

“Where are they, Turk?”  Parker asked.

“If I tell you, you’ll kill me.”

Sir Alex clasped his hands behind his back.  He bent forward slightly at the waist.

“Can I speak honestly, Francis?  It’s OK if I use your real name, isn't it?  I do find these nicknames rather silly.” 

The Turk nodded. 

“Good.  We are going to kill you.  Today you will die.  The choice you have is how that occurs.  Quickly, painlessly, or slowly and agonizing.  That is the only choice I can give you.  I have, through my influence, kept you safe and alive for a great number of years.  I cannot do that anymore.  You led a life that was considerably longer than it would otherwise have been.  Today it ends.  Tell me where the documents are.”

“I don’t accept that.  I’m not telling you shit,” Turk spat.

“Well, I have an important meeting in exactly thirty minutes.  Today I will be driving myself.  Parker here will be staying to see that you become more communicative.”

Sir Alex left and closed the door.  Parker didn’t speak.  His stuffed Turk’s mouth with a handkerchief and tore gaffer tape into a small rectangle and covered the Turk’s mouth.  Parker opened his holdall and produced a rolled tube of canvas.  He knelt on the floor and unravelled the tube.  Four knives, a pincer and a clock.  He selected the largest knife.  He set the clock on the floor and stood.

“Every five minutes I will stop,” Parker said. “I will remove the gaffer tape and give you the option of speaking.  I will give you thirty seconds to tell me.  Silence or profanities and the tape goes back on and a new five minutes starts.  Nod if you understand.”

The Turk started to scream, but the noise was muffled.  Parker pulled the tape from the Turk’s mouth and removed the handkerchief. 

“Do you have something to say?”  He asked.

The Turk stared and spat.  The spittle hitting Parker’s jacket.  “Fuck you,” he said.

Parker grabbed the Turk’s face and squeezed the Turk’s cheeks together with index finger and thumb.  He shoved the handkerchief into the Turks mouth and reapplied the tape.  Parker looked at the clock.

“And your time starts now,” he said.

Parker ripped open the Turk’s shirt and made his first incision across the Turk’s right nipple.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

Parker sent Jobs to look.

Instructions clear and easy.  Discrete, the key was discrete.  Any cars parked, any lonely dog walkers, anyone at all, you keep driving past.  The place was in the middle of nowhere.  An old farmhouse sat near a wood.  Nothing but history of animals and harvests long since gone.  Any people, any cars won’t be there for any reason other than to trap you.

Jobs cruised past.  The house was dark.  The street, as unlit as it was, couldn’t hide anyone.  It was empty.  The woods could conceal a hundred, but there was no way in except for this road and no parked cars to be seen. 

Jobs turned and drove back slowly, looking for movement.  He had heard about men who had been sent on errands out of the city and never returned.  He hadn’t done anything wrong, he didn’t know much, they never told him anything other than what to do.  He was being paranoid.  This was genuine.  He had the combination to the safe.  This was no set-up. 

Jobs pulled his car up to the closed garage door.  The house and garden were unkempt, a real mess.  Putting this place on the market would be a waste of time.  The garage door was buckled slightly.  The left side a half-metre off the ground and sloping back to touch the gravel on the opposite side.  Probably wouldn’t open if you wanted, he thought.

He didn’t have a key.  Parker told him to go round back and look under the seat of a battered old bike that was leaning up against the wall.  Jobs saw the rusty frame and slid his hand under the seat and grabbed the old-style long necked key.  He slid the key into the backdoor lock.  The thing was oiled and rust free.  Used a lot, quite recently too.  The door was as well oiled as the mechanism.  Jobs pushed tentatively but the door swung slowly open until it touched the wall. 

The house was silent.  The plan in Jobs’ mind.  He hooded his torch with his left hand and switched it on.  He turned and closed the door.  The kitchen was in order, but covered in a thin layer of dust.  A week or two since any surface had been wiped down.  The door through to the front of the house was open. It led through to the main room.  The room with the safe. 

Jobs walked through, his torch hooded so the beam did not shine through any cracks in the windows.  On the right was a wooden staircase leading up to the first floor.  It was wide enough for one person, probably not strong enough for the Turk.

The Turk, he thought.  I wonder what they did to make him give up the combination. 

He saw the cabinet and it was as they described, an antique piece of mahogany in different shades of brown to form a star.  Jobs bent down and opened the door.  He shone his light inside and the saw the safe.  A simple half-metre by half-metre solid case.  He took hold of the dial, paused not wanting to make a mistake, and pulled the piece of paper from his back pocket.  He had written the numbers down.  He didn’t want to forget.

He read a number then spun the dial.  Read the next and spun the dial in the opposite direction.  Five numbers, the clicking spin and he pulled the handle down.  The door popped open.  He shone his light inside and saw the large padded brown envelope.  He picked it up.  It wasn’t heavy, a few hundred grams at most.  He bounced it on his hand trying to be more exact in his calculations.  He looked inside the safe again and it was empty.

“That’s going to get you killed,” a voice said.

Jobs didn’t move.  He should have checked upstairs.  The voice was coming from two metres above him and to his right.  The man was either sitting on the top step or crouching down from the landing.

A set up, Jobs thought.  He had a gun tucked into the back of his jeans.  But his back was to the man.  No way could he pull, aim and fire before being killed himself.  But maybe the guy didn’t carry a gun?  Maybe he was just a big guy, the voice sounded deep. 

“I am armed,” the voice said.  “As are you.  The package you have will get you killed.  They’ll assume you opened it, assume you know.  And they’ll kill you for it.”

“Seems you’ll kill me too.”

“I won’t kill you.  If you do what I say.  And the first thing I’ll tell you is to put your hands up and turn to me really slowly.   Don’t be startled the lights are coming on.  Once they are, start your turn.”

The room illuminated and the light made jobs blink.  He accustomed himself to the brightness and Jobs followed the instructions.

“Nice to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Jobs.”

Jobs looked up at the man on the steps, looked at the face he knew, looked at the gun he was holding, looked down the barrel that was pointing at his chest.

“Raucous,” Jobs said.

******************************************************************

Jobs kept his hands raised as Raucous walked down the stairs.  Raucous kept his gun pointed at Jobs at all times.  He walked slowly, with small steps, not wanting to trip or stumble.  He reached into the back of Jobs jeans and removed his gun.

“I’ll give you this back later,” Raucous said. “But I need you to make a call for me.  Call Parker.”

“I don’t-”

“Look, I know you work for Parker, I know you have his number and I know he’s expecting a call.  You did your work, this is Parker’s fault.  I knew you were coming.  Now make the call.  Say hello, and pass me the phone.  There will be no violence here.”

Parker answered on the first ring.  “Do you have it?”  He asked.

“Yes," Jobs said.  "But there is a problem.  A man wants to speak to you.”

Jobs passed Raucous the phone, he could hear Parker asking questions.  He placed the mobile to his ear and listened.

“You’re not speaking to Jobs any more, Mr. Parker.”

“Raucous?”

“Is my voice that distinct?”

Parker waited.  “What do you want?”

“I want confirmation.  I have the idea that you are with the Turk.  I imagine he is still alive because you need confirmation from your man here that the package actually exists.  He hasn’t opened it and he hasn’t seen the contents.  He does not need to disappear.  I haven’t looked, but I do know what is inside.  A video from a luxury bathroom."

“You’ve watched it?”

“In a sense, yes.  I’ve watched it.  But the package is still closed.  Now, is the Turk there, and is he conscious?”

“Yes he is.”

“Can you pass him the phone or put it on loud-speaker, I imagine his arms are not so free right now.”

Parker pressed the correct button and held the phone close to the Turk’s swollen and bloodied face.

“Can you speak, Francis?”  Raucous asked.

“Yes, and if you can get here and get me out of this, we can all move on nice and easy.”

The Turk smiled up into Parker’s face.  “Bygones be bygones.  Raucous is good, see.  The Twins wouldn’t have been smart enough for this. You told me I had made a mistake.  Raucous was too dumb.  Well who’s dumb now, Parker, eh?”

Parker was impassive.

Raucous started to speak again.

“Francis, do you remember twenty first February 1987?”

“What?”

“Do you remember the date?”

“That’s thirty years ago.”

“I’ll help you with that.  Me and the boys down at the home, Bertrand’s, you know the place right?  We’d stolen one of those new video camera things.  We planned it out like some type of mini heist.  Nothing went to plan, we messed up all the way through.  Only got away with it because of a kid called Mickey Skinner.  Fast kid, stupid quick.  Could run two paces to everyone else’s one.  Lightning really.   Those things cost a fortune back then, real cutting edge technology.  We’d grown up watching those old films, old even back then.  Westerns and detectives, all that trashy stuff that haven’t held up well.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Just telling a story, see if you know the ending before it comes.  You’ve always had patience, right?  So sit tight and see where this goes.  We were all kids of ten, eleven, twelve that parents didn’t want and no one liked.  Just us, a group, sticking together, aiming to grow up and be something.  Footballers, gangsters, even one or two with brains thought about studying themselves to success.  Mickey Skinner was one.  Anyway, sure enough, kids seen stealing, running away in a group, the police come down and start asking questions.  Everyone knows Mickey is the flash, so they come at him pretty hard.  But he was smarter than anyone I had ever met, and could play dumb like no one you have ever seen.  But the police were not letting this go, I guess we had built up a bit of a reputation, done too many things and they saw this as the first step into things that would be too big for us.  Bad timing I guess.  The powers that be were not at all happy to have the police sniffing around, not with what some of the boys could tell them. 

“It was always the dumb ones, the broken ones right?  Those easily manipulated.  Never the boys with a bit of fire and brains.  Just the little dumb weak ones.

“What are you talking about, Raucous.  Tell me this later.  I need to get to some type of hospital.”

Parker stared at the Turk, “Let him finish.”

“We all knew but we never spoke about it, not directly.  We had a name for the house.  The Villa.  Hah, hope we never travel to the Villa.  Heard that a lot.  We knew where it was too.  You could walk there in forty minutes.  We’d go past the place sometimes, daring each other to look in, knock on the door.  All that kid’s stuff.  We never did.  You had us scared.

“That evening, when the people employed to protect us took their money and went blind, the usual kids got picked, but so did Mickey.  He knew it was coming too.  He’d told us, told us that he’d be among them that night.  He was right.  He was a smart kid.

“Five kids taken out into the back parking lot, all quiet, all knowing what was to come, all had already experienced it.  Dissociation, I guess.  A moment when you have to leave your body and come back when it’s all over.

“Mickey was one of us, so me and two guys cut out after the cars.  Our supervisors that night were having their own fun.  They wouldn’t come near us because we were fighters.  We would have hurt them.  They left us alone.  But not others.

“We got to the Villa.  Forty minutes exactly.  There were a couple of men drifting around.  I would bet Parker was one of them.  Protecting the clientele.  So silent outside.  No screaming, no noise at all.  We stayed back, far from the house.  Saw a few men arrive, recognized a couple.  The DJ was there too.  Swaggered up the steps and right through the front door.  Untouchable.  And he knew it.

“We were worried about Mickey.  We knew what was happening.  We made a plan.  We had the video camera.  We could trap them.  I snuck up on the house, climbed up on the ledge of a big frosted window, there was normal glass just above.  I heard noises inside, I figured I’d film some faces and go to the police.  I filmed.  Not long.  The two guys outside were taking things serious.  Walking around.  So I skipped out and got back to my friends.  Nothing we could do for Mickey other than revenge. 

“We watched the video when we got back.  You know what we watched, Francis?  We watched a boy get drowned." 

"Not by me.”

“No, not by you.  Mickey naked over a sink, a fat bald guy naked behind him, forcing Mickey’s head under the water.  Too strong for an eleven-year-old, and Mickey died.  We sat and watched Mickey die.”

“I had nothing to do with that.  The man who did it is dead, a long time.  The man at the end of the video isn't, he was here. We can get him.  Me and you.  Parker is his man."

“In the morning we drew straws on who went to the police.  Luckily it wasn’t me.  And in the afternoon you came to visit.  John Squires, the kid who spoke, left with you.  Left with the video camera, and any evidence we might have had.  So yeah, I’ve seen the video because it’s my first and very last film.  A horror story.”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“You organized the party, you supplied the boys, you decided on the punishment for Mickey.  You disappeared Squires, and you, Francis were responsible."

No one spoke for ten seconds.  Each was thinking. 

“Parker, are you still there?”  Raucous asked.

“I’m here."

“We need to meet.  More specifically with your employer.  And while it is not asking a favor as such, because you mean to do it anyway, if you could kill that fat evil bastard nice and slowly for me, I give you my word that in any eventual outcome of violence between us, I’ll make it quick on you.”

“Would you like it filmed, Steven Spielberg?”  Parker asked.

“No, just your word that it’s nice and slow.”

“It’s been nice and slow all afternoon.”

“You haven’t got the balls to do it yourself, Raucous?”  Turk shouted.

“Oh, I’ve killed.  You know that.  I used to tell everyone four people died at my hands.  Turns out it was only three.”

“It’s only two, you dumb fuck.”

Parker punched the Turk hard and shoved the handkerchief back in the Turk’s mouth.

“He’s not up to talking any more,” Parker said.

“Oh, well, he hasn’t got anything to say.  I wasn’t expecting an apology.  Speak soon, Parker.  I look forward to your call and the meeting.  And I’ll send Jobs on his way.  He took every precaution.  He did it well.  There’s no need for him to die. Accidental or otherwise.”