Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (17 page)

McCall looked puzzled for a second. “What? Oh no Mom, it’s not that I’m thinking about, it’s something else.”

Her mother had one rule: don’t bring your work home with you, and McCall liked it like that.

Steel made his way through the park. He had already run for miles but he found it was that he needed to get the past week out of his system. The path stretched on through the landscape, the leaves on the trees glistened with morning sunlight. He had caught the metro north to run in Central Park: the open space and the endless green gave him time to think things through without being under pressure.

As he ran down the dusty path he went under an overpass. The small red brick bridge echoed with the clip clop of horses working hard to carry tourists up and down the park. Reaching the other side, he noticed a man slumped over. Steel stopped for a moment, and looked round, finding that he was alone apart from this person. As he approached he saw that the guy wore a tracksuit, its red colour reflected off the bright green paintwork of the bench. He approached the man cautiously. Using just two fingers he pressed against his neck, checking for a pulse. But before he could react, some material was flung over his head—it felt like a bag of some kind. He fought hard, but he felt a sharp pain in his neck. Then, just before he blacked out, he heard a voice that was deep and gravely:

“Nighty, night, princess.”

Then John Steel slipped into darkness.

McCall and her mother sat in the garden of her Aunt Peg’s house, attending a family barbeque. Sue McCall had moved to the area, closer to her sister Pegg, after the death of Sam’s father, because the old family home was too big and had too many memories. Pegg was on ‘salad duty’ and Martin, her husband, was on the ‘grill duty’. Sam watched as the tall grey-haired man stood in front of a large black grill that had been built into what appeared to be the old chimneystack of a house. The garden was in full bloom with an array of colours, and people were mingling, laughing and joking.

It was a glorious day; the sun was high and not a cloud spoilt the blue sky. The McCall girls stood talking with another group of people who were waiting for the food.

“So Beth tells me you’re a police officer, wow, that’s brilliant. Say have you got anything to do with those grisly murders?” said a tall balding man.

McCall looked him up and down.

“You’re a reporter, right?” she shot back.

The man seemed shocked at first, and then it came to him where he had seen her before. “Hey, are you
the
Detective McCall? Wow, I must say this is brilliant.”

She looked puzzled.

“Well, having you in the family,” he enthused, “well that could really be good for business, I can tell you.”

McCall was just about to put him on his ass when her aunt stepped in.

“Henry Pollack, you should be ashamed,” she told him. “Plus you know the house rules, no work talk in this house.”

She gave him a saver look, he apologized and moved on.

“Mother, who is that,” Sam asked her mom “Do you know him?” she said quietly, unobtrusively pointing in the tall man’s direction.

“That, my dear, is your cousin Beth’s new man, Henry Pollack.”

McCall searched her mind for the name and came up blank.

“Never heard of him,” Sam shook her head.

“No, nobody has. Apparently he’s new in the game and is aiming to make it big, as fast as he can, so I would watch it, kiddo.” Her mother tapped the side of her nose.

THIRTY-TWO

John Steel was woken by a blast of cold water in his face, some of which went in his mouth. He tried to spit out but his lips were blocked by something, it felt like some kind of cloth. That’s when he remembered the bag pushed over his head before the pain and the blackout. He knew he’d been abducted, but something else felt really strange about his predicament too. The bag was ripped from his head and then he realized why he had this weird feeling of disorientation. He was hanging upside down, his hands bound by what felt like handcuffs.

In front of him stood three large men, each wearing a blue shiny tracksuit. Another man, who was obviously the boss, was sitting on a bar stool. He was bald headed, stocky and had the beginnings of a straggly beard, and wore a black pinstriped suit.

“Good morning, Mr Steel, oh forgive me, it’s Detective now isn’t it? My name is Sal De Torre.” The seated man’s voice was as heavy as his build.

Steel felt a massive blow to the back of his head, but had no idea where it came from. As the momentum forced his body to turn, he noticed several others dressed in the same type of tracksuit, each of them as ugly as the next. The central man of the trio was obviously the hitter. Steel noticed that one of the others, who looked to be in his early twenties, , was dancing on the tips of his toes.

The detective took a moment to assess the situation, straining to see as much as he could:

A: he was upside down, tied in position by a rope that was attached to a large hook. The hook was on a chain that ran down from a movable crane device.

B: he was handcuffed.

C: there were around five goons guarding him.

He made a note of their weapons, the exits and more importantly, the best way he could get down. He had been stripped of his hooded top, and just his t-shirt remained covering his upper body; as he gently circled round, dangling as he was, he could see that the men were not heavily armed, which was always a good thing in this kind of situation.

“So it’s still morning is it?” he asked.

Again, he felt a blow, but this time it was to his back. He winced but didn’t show any pain in his face, just anger. He looked around to see the youngest of them with a large grin on his face. He looked like a kid, a bruiser trying to make his mark with the big boys.

“Indeed it is morning,” answered Sal de Torre. “I don’t believe in wasting time, do you?”

“Well now that you—”

Smack
.

He felt another punch. This time the kid laughed aloud.

“Why am I here may I ask?”

Smack
.

His ears rang after taking a kick to the head. He shook off the pain.

“We ask the questions here, got that?” The young man spat out the words, while the boss raised a hand to calm him down.

“Now, now, that’s no way to treat our guest. Detective Steel has a right to know why we have brought him here.”

“Thank you.”

 This time he felt a kick to his lower back. The boy was skipping at the excitement of it all. As he swivelled on his chain, the attacker saw Steel’s eyes for the first time and felt the full intensity of a stare that nearly made him pee his pants.

“So, Mr Steel, it is true what they say about you?” De Torres laughed. “Please return Mr Steel’s glasses to him before young Stan loses his breakfast, will you?” A man walked forward and slid his sunglasses back into place.

“Now to business,” The large man went on. He was now playing with a pearl-handled stiletto blade, picking bits out of the chair beneath him. From his name, Steel assumed him to be Italian. “Why are you looking for Santini and why did you put several of my colleges in the hospital?” .

“For a start—”

He took a hit direct in the small of his back. Steel was now getting bored with this and just wished they would cooperate before he killed them all.

“Look if dick head is going to keep hitting me every time I open my mouth this may take some time,” he growled. “So you may need to order refreshments.”

There was another blow, this time to the back of his legs.

“Yes, you are absolutely right, Mr Steel. Stan can you lay off? Just until we are finished? Then you can have some fun, OK?” He looked at the kid, who was all ready to deliver another blow.

Young Stan reached above Steel’s handcuffs, and was relieved to find that the man’s watch had not been removed. Feeling behind the main body, he found the handcuff key.

“Your colleagues started hitting him,” Stan replied. “I just defended myself and my business with Mr. Santini. I wish to take it up with Mr. Santini.” The kid lost his frustration and kicked Steel in the back, but the detective had anticipated the move and had tensed his muscles. Instead of absorbing the blow, Steel was therefore pushed forward. As he swung backwards fast, he managed to use his body’s momentum to come crashing straight into the face of the kid. The air was filled with blood and bone as the boy’s face exploded from the impact. Steel used the momentum once more to try to swing across to the other side and even the odds a bit, but as the goon in front of him stood ready for Steel’s crashing body, all he felt was something thrown at his face.

He looked down to see a pair of handcuffs laying in the dirt. By the time the goon looked up at Steel he was ripped off his feet and thrown into the path of two others who were racing forwards to get the Englishman. All three men disappeared behind some old crates. There was a loud crash.

Steel was now swinging about like a clock’s pendulum gone wrong. Bullets flew all over as one man raced through with an automatic machine pistol. Sparks flew everywhere, and people started to dive for cover. Two men raced towards Steel brandishing baseball bats, planning ready to play pińata with his head; unfortunately for them, as he swung in their direction a stray bullet cut him free from his foot shackles. Maintaining his momentum and direction he clothes-lined the goons, then rolled to safety.

Steel found himself behind a group of bashed-up old lockers, which had been laid flat. He lay there hiding from the erratic gunfire from the man who had inadvertently shot him free. Hollow loud thuds filled the air as the bullets impacted against his shelter. Steel dared to risk glancing out, to see De Torre standing at the far end near a door, shouting for the others to kill Steel. He was suddenly pulled back as a hail of bullets impacted near his head.

“Nearly got you that time, you son-of-a-bitch!” yelled the man holding the machine gun. Steel heard a click then the sound of metal hitting the floor followed by another click: the man had reloaded the automatic weapon.

Steel knew he had to do something, but what?

The hail of bullets rained against the lockers again, but the firing sound from the weapon was getting louder, which meant he was getting closer.

Steel scanned the area in front of him and found a container, which was full of what appeared to be old metal fence rods; he saw the sharp points sticking out and judged that they might have been old church railings or something similar.

“Come out, Mr Steel,” called the man with the gun. “I will make it quick. OK, all you have to do is stand up and it will all be over.”

John’s enemy had the weapon held out in front of him, the butt of the gun dug into his hip for stability.

“You got that right!” Steel yelled.

The gunman was shocked at the sight of Steel suddenly standing up and throwing something. Before he realized what was happening, the point of the rail impacted into his left shoulder, making him turn as he fired. The spray of bullets swept up the room towards the boss.

De Torres’s large face dropped as he realized the oncoming hail of hot brass was heading his way. He made for the door but was too late, as one of the projectiles found its mark and blew a hole in his leg. The pain shot though his body but he grabbed on to the door frame to stabilize himself and, with a trail of fresh blood marking his way, he managed to escape.

Steel smirked to himself as he watched the large man limp away.
That should slow him down
, he thought.

Then, apparently from nowhere, a hook attached to a long steel cable came crashing down in front of the detective, making him leap backwards. The man who’d thrown it was large and muscular, and covered with tattoos, his shaven head blue with regret. He was grinning like a maniac.

As Steel observed the psycho with the hook and cable, he couldn’t help notice his oversized stubble-covered jaw.

The hook impacted again, this time to the side of the detective. Steel rolled out of the way. The man swung the steel cable above his head, picking his target. Steel stood up and the cable and hook flew towards him. As Steel ducked the man saw with horror the blades of the giant cooling fans behind them spinning fast. There was a load clank as the hook and metal rope was caught up in the fast-spinning wheel. As Steel’s attacker looked on, the trail of cable quickly snaked its way towards the turbine only for him to then remember he had tied it around his ankle.

He was ripped forward, screaming as he went, trying to unravel the knot he had made to secure the weapon to him. The man slid closer and closer to his fate, when suddenly a mass of metal and wood came crashing down, as the stacked-up cargo crates to his front were tipped over.

To his relief, the crates were blocking his way to certain doom. As he took a breath, a figure leapt upon him, knocking him out.

John Steel had to find a way out and fast. His quarry was getting away and he had questions he wanted to ask. He ran for the door De Torre had escaped through, running across the body-ridden floor. But he suddenly stopped and started to back off as a massive hulk of a man stood in his path. The hulk was bald-headed

With some sort of tribal tattoo covering one side of his face, he was a mix of flab and muscle and stood around six-foot nine inches tall. But Steel was more concerned in the fire axe he held.

The Englishman stood in the middle of the room semi-crouched, ready for anything, except for the speed with which the monster came at him, swinging the red fire axe. Steel managed to roll out of the way just in time to avoid a blow that could have split him straight down the middle; sparks flew from the concrete as the axe impacted.

I thought this was too easy,
Steel thought to himself. The huge man turned and came forwards once more. Steel ran to the side, where there was plenty of cover, but he didn’t have time for this skirmish. Quickly he looked round and found a staircase leading upwards to a gantry next to the dirty windows. The swoosh of metal slicing air was followed by the clang of metal against metal. Steel dropped to the ground, narrowly evading another killer blow. The beast looked down to see Steel’s boot kicking him full force into his groin area, but he just smiled at Steel and swung the axe downwards. There were more sparks as Steel made a backward roll, again narrowly being missed by the razor-sharp axe blade.