The Last Big Job (25 page)

At that moment Gunk Elphick came down the stairs which led up
to the offices and beckoned Henry towards him.

Frank Jagger clicked into gear.

Elphick led Henry up the stairs, through a heavy door which
closed automatically behind him, on to a landing. The sound of the
club became muted. Henry was thankful for that. The reduction in
volume assisted him to think more clearly. The landing led to a
further set of steps which opened out into a wide, deeply carpeted
hallway, off which were several doors.

Gunk signalled Henry with a hand gesture and walked down the
hall, turning without knocking into the third door along. Henry
followed nonchalantly.

There was a small office behind the door containing a desk and
chair. Behind the desk was another door which Gunk shouldered his
way through, Henry at his heels.

The inner office was much bigger. Henry’s eyes quickly
circumnavigated the room. There was a large, leather-topped
mahogany desk with executive swivel chair; on the desktop was a
blotter and a laptop. Behind the desk was a large window which, if
Henry’s geography was correct, looked out over Cross Street. To one
side of the desk were two massive Chesterfield settees in red
leather - a style of furniture that never appealed to Henry, who
was a G-plan man at heart. The Chesterfields faced each other
square on, separated by a glass-topped coffee table. Up against
another wall was a filing cabinet and on another were a couple of
TV monitors, one which had a screen split into half a dozen images,
showing scenes from within the night club below, transmitted from
CCTV cameras dotted strategically around the club.

Henry’s eyes returned to the Chesterfields. On one sat Gary
Thompson; on the other sat a mean, sleek-looking individual, but
rather pasty-faced. He reminded Henry of the 1970’s version of
Bryan Ferry.

‘
Hey, Frankie baby,’ Thompson boomed loudly, ‘how you
doing?’

‘
I’m doing good,’ Henry nodded.

Less than a second later, Henry was not doing good at
all.

Gunk Elphick, who had entered the room ahead of Henry – a
good, psychological manoeuvre designed to put Henry subconsciously
at ease - spun round unexpectedly, at a speed Henry could not have
anticipated, and hit him hard on the side of the head. Henry flew
across the carpet on to the sharp edge of a filing cabinet. For a
moment he saw stars and moons, and it felt like his brain had
become detached from its moorings. He did not have any time to
consider this, because Gunk danced across the room after him and
followed up the first punch with one to the pit of the stomach, and
then another to the opposite side of Henry’s head.

Before Henry could sink into disorientated oblivion, Gunk
stepped in real close, head-butted the bridge of the detective’s
nose and jabbed his right knee into Henry’s testicles. Henry
pitched sideways and slithered down the wall, doubled up with the
terrible shocking pain roasting up from his balls, yet with both
hands cupped over his face, stemming the blood flow from his
nostrils.

Gunk was ruthless.

If Henry thought that was the end of the matter, he was wrong.
Gunk’s steel-toe-capped Doc Martens booted him several times in the
ribs as he lay squirming in agony. Then he lifted Henry on to his
back, grabbed the front of his bloodstained jumper and hauled him
to his feet.

Henry reeled, uttering gibberish, swearwords and
blasphemy.

Gunk dragged him across the room towards the desk, then forced
him down on to his knees in a praying position and rammed the side
of Henry’s face into the desktop. Gunk stood behind him, knees
jammed into his shoulder-blades, pressing Henry’s chest against the
desk and skewering his features whilst blood and snot flowed from
his nose, mixing with saliva dribbling from his twisted
mouth.

Gunk put his mouth to Henry’s ear. ‘Right, you cunt,’ he said.
Then he reached down and pulled up Henry’s jumper, running his
harsh hands over Henry’s chest, stomach and back.

‘
Nothing there, Gazzer,’ Gunk said to Thompson.

‘
Strip the fucker,’ Thompson shouted. He had been watching the
beating from the comfort of the Chesterfield, legs crossed,
relaxed.

‘
On your fucking feet,’ Gunk growled. He heaved Henry up.
‘Come on, get up.’

‘
What. . . Why . . .?’ Henry spluttered, hardly able to
balance.

‘
Now you can do this hard or easy,’ Gunk explained. ‘Get your
clothes off.’

‘
But ... why?’

Gunk slammed an open hand across Henry’s head, lifting the
detective off his feet, reeling him round full circle and
depositing him in a heap on the floor. Henry regained his hands and
knees, shaking his head, aware of blood dripping on the
carpet.

Gunk leaned over. ‘Take your kit off, or I’ll kill you
now.’

Henry rocked back on to his haunches and eased the V-neck
jumper over his head, dropping it on to the floor. He wore nothing
underneath it. He struggled to his feet, stage by stage, unbuckled
his belt, waistband, and unzipped his chinos. He let them drop to
his ankle. He swayed, only just able to remain standing.

‘
Skids, too,’ Gunk screamed.

Henry pulled his underpants down, left them at his ankles.
Gunk circled him, his eyes focused on Henry’s genitals and
backside.

Henry panted, racked with pain, one hand at his nose, thanking
God he had decided to make this first meeting without a
wire.

‘
He’s clean,’ Gunk announced, stepped into Henry and grabbed
his sore balls, squeezing. ‘Aren’t you, babe?’

There was some conversation, but not a lot. Rik told Danny a
few things about his job on Conference Planning which simply passed
over her head. There was a considerable amount of alcohol imbibed
between them a lot of dancing done, culminating in several slow
numbers leading up to the 2 a.m. finish. It was during these songs
that Danny made her intentions clearly and unequivocally known to
Rik Dean, if not by word of mouth, by actions.

They actually started the first slow song standing slightly
apart. Rik’s hands rested on Danny’s shapely hips. Her arms were
snaked around his neck. By the end of that song, other than being
completely naked, they could not have got closer together. They
kissed greedily, wetly. Their hands slithered up and down each
other’s spine and backside. Danny gasped hotly on the first
occasion both her hands moulded themselves on to Rik’s bum. It was
taut and hard, just as she had imagined, but not as solid as his
erection which Danny moved against as they rotated with each other.
She took a few less than discreet opportunities to sneak a hand
around to the front of his trousers and squeeze, making him groan
like a beast.

‘
Let’s go,’ Danny whispered hoarsely, sucking his ear. ‘My
place.’

‘
Yeah, c’mon.’

He virtually dragged her off the dance-floor past a table of
jeering, boorish and very irate Murder Squad detectives.

Danny was completely swept up by the moment. There was nothing
on her mind but the prospect of screwing Rik Dean, the sooner the
better. She needed the release of orgasm, multiple ones if
possible.

With Gunk’s willing assistance, the naked Henry Christie -
trousers and shreddies around his ankle - had reassumed the
kneeling position by the desk. Gunk’s knees were pressed into his
back, Henry’s hands were jammed down in front of himself and his
head was again being squashed into the desktop by Gunk.

Thompson sat on the office chair, reclining it. He swung his
heels up on to the edge of the desk. Henry’s leather coat was in
his hands and he was rooting through the pockets. He found a wallet
which he turned upside down and emptied on his lap. He picked up
and scrutinised everything. It all related to Frank Jagger. Henry
had no concerns from that angle.

‘
OK, Frank,’ Thompson said, brushing the wallet contents off
his legs on to the floor, and dropping the leather coat. ‘Bet
you’re wondering what this is about?’

‘
You could thay thasht,’ Henry responded through his distorted
mouth.

‘
As you are fully aware, our boss Jacky Lee got taken out the
other day by a renegade gunman. Not a nice thing to happen at all.
Problem is, that both me and Gunk got hauled in by the bizzies -
which was only to be expected, I suppose. They’ve got to be seen to
be doing something and I accept that. Reluctantly, of course,’ he
said generously. ‘The fact is, though, they really, really,
really
thought we had
something to do with the job. Like we set the whole thing up, or
something.’ He tittered at Gunk, who chuckled back. ‘I can half
understand their point of view ... totally unfounded though it
was.’

Henry dribbled on to the desk. Gunk pressed down
harder.

‘
But they started asking us some really nooky questions which
got me doing a bit of thinking. They were the kind of questions
that come via a witness at the scene, who may have seen things
happen in a certain way - and the only person or persons I can
think of who fit the bill are you and your mate, Eric. You see,
every other witness in that cafe was spoken to, discreetly, no
pressure, nothing like that, and were told to say they either saw
fuck-all, or very, very little. Gunk is my witness liaison officer.
As you can see, he has a way with negotiations.’

‘
Yeah, I shee,’ Henry spat. His mind shot back to the briefing
with Davison and the reassurance that neither his nor Terry’s
statements had been used in the investigation. As Henry
half-suspected at the time, Davison had lied.

And now Henry’s life was in danger.

‘
I want to know what you have to say about this. Did you tell
the cops what you saw? And if you did, did you finger me and Gunk?
And also, if you did, what the hell are you doing here tonight,
bold as brass and twice as thick? Answers, not on a postcard.
‘

Gunk released the pressure on Henry’s face, but grabbed his
ears, one in each hand, holding Henry’s head between them, screwing
his ears as though he were revving a motorbike.

Henry cried out. Gunk stopped twisting.

‘
I . . . we didn’t go to the cops.’ It was difficult trying to
speak with a gushing bloody nose. ‘Think I’m fucking daft or
something? I had ten thousand bottles of stolen whisky on that
lorry park. I’m not going to go waltzing up to the cops, am
I?’

‘
You would say that, wouldn’t you?’ Thompson said.

‘
Only ‘cos it’s the truth. On my mother’s grave, I swear it. I
have not been to the cops and nor has Eric. We don’t fucking intend
doing so either, but in case they get hold of us, you’d better tell
me what you want us to tell them. Help me get my story
straight.’

Thompson nodded to Gunk, who released Henry’s ears. Henry
dropped his head on to his chest and choked back a sob of fear.
‘Jesus Christ!’

‘
Do we believe him?’ Thompson asked the room. There was no
reply.

Thompson dropped his feet and leaned forwards, placing his
chin on the desk, looking playfully across at Henry. ‘Benefit of
the doubt, Frank. But make no mistake, we’ll be keeping a close eye
on you until I’m one hundred per cent. If I find you
have
gone to the cops,
you’re dead meat and so is your pal.’

They jumped into the first available taxi and Danny shouted
her address to the driver. Then she and Rik fell greedily into each
other’s arms on the back seat of the cab, kissing hard, both driven
by lust. Danny could not wait to get Rik’s trousers off him, but
for the sake of propriety in the cab, she limited herself to
forcing her hand down the front of them and grabbing his pulsating
penis. He, in turn, less than romantically, found his way straight
up her skirt to the top of her tights and knickers, easing them
down and sliding his hand between her legs, cupping her hot sex,
inserting a finger which sent a wonderful shiver right up to her
nipples.

They bailed out of the cab outside her house. She threw a
tenner at the fortunate cab driver and waved him away. She
immediately grabbed Rik where they stood at the bottom of her
driveway.

Rik rained lascivious kisses all over Danny’s face and neck,
whilst expertly dealing with the buttons on her blouse.

She teetered backwards as Rik’s mouth worked down to her
fettered breasts. He popped one of the firm, milky-white mounds out
of its constricting support mechanism. Danny almost shrieked with
ecstasy as Rik’s burning mouth closed around a hard, erect,
plum-coloured nipple.

‘
Come on, let’s go inside.’ She hoisted him towards the front
door.

Within a moment her key had opened up. They stumbled into the
dark hallway. Danny kicked the door shut with a heel and turned to
Rik with an expression that said, ‘I am going to fuck your brains
out, pal.’

She did not care that one of her lovely breasts was hanging
out and that her tights had laddered. She was hungry for
orgasms.

Once more they clashed, pitching uncontrollably down the
hallway as things progressed.