Borrowed Time Cut Version

Vidamour/BORROWED TIME 1
Copyright by T A Vidamour
THE SAME STRANGE DREAM
It was a large car driven by a faceless man. Tommy Donohue sat in the back wedged
between two burly official looking men who were also faceless. There didn’t seem to
be anything outside, just snow…so much snow. There were no buildings, no trees, no
signs…nothing, only a sharp whiteness contrasting with the blackness of the night
sky. Yet, the sun shone unorthodoxly brightly, which made the atmosphere all the
more sinister.
An attractive young woman turned in the passenger seat to face him – it was
Dawn Howarth. Her beaming smile didn’t make him feel at ease at all; it sent shivers
through his already cold, numb body. Yet, he was sweating, which didn’t make any
sense. She held something in her hand.
‘Don’t worry Tom my love, I’ve brought your favourite CDs with me; maybe
they’ll cheer you up and then we can both relax in that nice hot bath we promised
each other after our visit. It won’t be a bloodbath though.’ Her shrill laughter
sounded distant in the large confines of the car, which eventually pulled up in front
of a forbidding edifice. It was the only building for miles around. In fact, it seemed to
be the only one in the world.

Dawn placed a disk in the CD player and pressed the play button. There was
no music, just voices. Before he had time to recognise the voices, she abruptly
stopped the disk and laughed again before opening the door and stepping outside.
‘Well this is it Tommy, this is your final destination,’ the faceless driver said
as the two burly men, either side of him also climbed from the strange vehicle.
Donohue also stepped outside. There was so much snow but it wasn’t bitterly cold as
it should be, it felt like…foam as they made their way towards the entrance. Cold
sweat ran freely down his face upon their approach. He turned to face the car before
the huge creaking doors opened. The faceless driver waved, and he seemed to be
smiling – Impossible.
The doors slammed shut with an eerie finality when they entered the building.
They seemed to walk down endless corridors of…snow, until they reached a strange
room, which contained five large beds upon another carpet of snow. Dawn turned to
face him and somehow, she was different; it took him a while to realise that she was
wearing different clothes and he couldn’t understand why or how.
‘Now this Tommy boy is what you’ve got to see,’ she said mockingly as she
took his hand and led him towards the first bed. She pulled back the cover and spoke
again but her voice was muffled this time; he noticed that she now wore a surgical
mask and gown. He shook his head trying to dislodge the image from his vision. Her
eyes seemed to widen at the sight beneath the cover; he followed her gaze. It was the
corpse of Kevin Johnson. Donohue’s eyes also widened as the sudden realisation hit
him harshly – they weren’t beds, they were mortuary slabs. She moved onto the next
slab; it was Denise Johnson, Kevin’s older sister. They each had a blue tinge to their
complexion.
‘This is your handiwork isn’t that right Tommy boy?’ Dawn’s voice echoed in
the room. He turned and noticed that the other two occupants had gone. She pulled
back the next two covers as one to reveal the lifeless bodies of Peter and Danny
Elliott. They each cradled something in their arms; at a closer glance, he noticed that
it was a Playstation2 and a Gameboy.
He turned to speak to Dawn, but she too was gone. He was alone in this
strange room with…four corpses.
One slab remained. He ventured closer and hesitated before he pulled back
the cover. The deathly face of Cathleen Elliott stared up at him.
‘Hello Tommy boy my love, How are you keeping lately?’ Her voice sounded
distant but the words were in sync with the movement of her lips. He sensed rather
than saw movement from the other slabs – the dead were rising.
‘I’m stuck on Vice City Tommy, what can I do? The police keep putting
stingers on the roads and bursting my tyres and I can’t find the hundredth hidden
package.’ Danny’s voice also sounded distant. Kevin and Denise Johnson now stood
either side of him.
‘Have you got any ecstasy Tommy because we’re having a party tonight and
we’re really dying to die,’ they said in unison. Cath now sat upright pointing an
accusatory finger towards him.
‘This is all your fault Tom, you should be lying here, not us... you killed us all
didn’t you?’
‘Tommy, I’m stuck on Vice City, what am I going to do?’ Danny’s voice
again.
He clamped his hands over his ears but the action only seemed to make the
words even louder.
‘Please Tommy, we need some ecstasy; we have to die don’t you understand?’
‘Listen to me Tommy boy; you murdered every one of us. We were supposed
to get…married…married…MARRIED.’
‘Tommy my Gameboy is broken, can you fix it please?’
‘We need to die.’
‘We were supposed to get bloody...MARRIED.’
‘Perleeease Tommy, I need to get past this mission on Vice City.’
They stood in a semi-circle inches in front of him screaming their commands
and accusations. They abruptly became silent and turned their gaze towards the door
as a newcomer entered the room. Donohue also turned towards the door. The figure
loomed in the doorway for a long time before lurching forward, slowly as though
hampered by…so much snow. He recognised the booming voice immediately – it was
the voice of Detective Inspector Tony Johnson.
‘Well if it isn’t Mr fucking murderer himself.’
Donohue noticed he was holding a dark metallic object in both hands as he
inched forward. The snow was rising to waist height, for he could no longer feel his
legs. There was also a thick haze of purple fog emanating from the rapidly rising
rubbery substance. Johnson spoke again.
‘Guess what, I’ve got a nice present for you and it comes with two cartridges.’
When Donohue saw his own 12-gauge, Bignotti sawn-off shotgun pointed towards
him, he tried to sprint towards the door but he couldn’t move. He tried desperately to
move his legs but he sank deeper with the effort, as though he was drowning in
quicksand.
Johnson’s face was a twisted mask of contempt as he levelled the twin
barrels at Donohue’s face.
‘Time to die, you fucking murdering scumbag.’ He pulled both triggers…

Tommy Donohue woke from his restless slumber drenched in cold sweat; he
sat up sharply, his heart pounding. He wondered why he’d had the same strange
dream for the second time in less than a week. What bothered him was that his dreams
and nightmares normally came true. Maybe it was a form of retribution, he thought
despairingly. He swung his legs off the couch and stroked his neatly-trimmed goatee
as he glanced at his watch; it was just after ten on a Friday morning and the house was
silent save for the loud ticking of the wall clock, which was an hour slow as usual. He
reached for a Marlboro and lit it shakily.
He’d arrived home at midnight and after a half-hearted argument with Cath
Elliott, his girlfriend, she left him to sleep it off on the couch while she went to bed.
He stood and exhaled deeply when his thirty-nine-year-old tired features
stared back at him from the large mirror above the fireplace. He was tall, athletic and
his long, thick wavy red hair was matted and damp with perspiration; he decided to tie
it in a ponytail after he changed out of his sweaty clothes.
An hour later, he set off to meet his friend.

1 -- SCABS ON THE SKIN OF SOCIETY
GATESHEAD, TYNE & WEAR, DECEMBER 2005:
The stifling heat inside the Lions Den was more than enough to stave off the freezing
wind, which lashed the run-down Victorian pub. The jukebox had been playing heavy
rock songs all afternoon and Donohue had just thrashed Lenny Mason at pool again.
‘That’s it, I’ve had enough,’ Forty-five-year-old Mason moaned as he raised
the pint of lager to his lips. He’d been the head doorman for the last five years. He
was a short man, built like a bull, and he was the worse gambler in the North East. His
shaven head glistened with perspiration as he sighed and pulled out his notepad.
‘That’s fifty quid you owe me now mate, on top of the forty from yesterday,’
Donohue scoffed at his good friend. He was about to say something else when his
curiosity was aroused. His blue eyes squinted as he nodded towards three hooded
youths in the far corner of the bar.
‘Don’t those pricks work for Hackett?’ he asked. With beady brown eyes,
Mason followed his gaze through the haze of cigarette smoke

‘They’re just a few errand boys for Frankie aren’t they Tom?’ Donohue stared
into space for a moment before he turned and made his way steadily towards the
youths, followed by Mason, who still held the pool cue in his giant fist.
When they reached the table, the unmistakable smell of skunk hung heavy in
the air. Donohue opened his mouth to speak but one of the youths beat him to it.
‘What the fuck do you want you hippie bastard?’
‘Drugs and hoodie’s are banned from my premises, now piss off.’ The last
notes of Black Night by Deep Purple faded on the jukebox, giving way to an awkward
silence. Donohue was adamant when he spoke again.
‘I’ll tell you one more time…get out of my pub.’
Suddenly, one of the trio scrambled to his feet and lunged for Mason with a
lock knife, but tripped over his chair. With tremendous force, Mason brought the pool
cue down onto his forehead above his left eye. The yob got back to his feet, so he hit
him again, this time breaking his wrist and knocking the knife to the floor. He began
to scream and shout at the top of his voice.
‘You fucking bastard…look what you’ve done you stupid twat.’
‘Have you got a death wish or what?’ Mason screamed back as he hit him
once again square in the face, knocking out his two front teeth. He crashed to the floor
like a felled tree, and this time he stayed down.
Meanwhile the other youth went for Donohue; he also held some type of
blade, with which he slashed the air erratically. Donohue easily dodged him, but
before he got the chance to disarm him, Mason’s cue smashed across the bridge of the
hoodie’s nose, and a shower of crimson liquid splashed the wall behind. He also went
down. Mason remained in a defensive stance for a time. He shook his head vigorously
and beads of sweat flew from his brow like a swarm of insects from a disturbed
corpse.
The third yob sat hunched over the table with his hands clasped around his
head for protection.
‘Bring my drink over Lenny,’ Donohue said as he sat opposite the cowering
thug.
For the few locals left in the bar, the entertainment was over; they carried on
as if the episode hadn’t even happened. Donohue stroked his goatee as Mason pulled
up a chair.
‘The trouble with you stupid bastard kids is that you don’t know me, you don’t
know him, and you don’t know this bloody pub. Now, I’m a nice easy-going bloke
and so is he, and believe it or not, he’s in a good mood today, and I don’t like
violence.’ Donohue paused and looked in deep thought for a moment before he
continued.
‘Being a pacifist means I tend to avoid trouble altogether if I can, but
sometimes exceptions have to be made…so be careful. I’d rather use my mouth as a
weapon these days.’ The yob glanced at the seventeen-stone hulking figure of Mason,
but turned away when the bouncer grinned sadistically and scratched his head.
‘So where’s the skunk son? It’s been stinking the place out for the last ten
minutes, so I know you have a stash.’ Donohue’s voice was calm.
The youth pulled out an ounce bag of the drug, which Donohue snatched and
put in his own pocket.
‘Look son, I’m not going to bullshit you but, you and your friends, well…
you’re just scabs on the skin of society…you’re scum.’ He reached into his front jeans
pocket, pulled out a handful of loose change and tossed it onto the table. Some coins
bounced to the floor. He counted the money that remained on the table and pushed it
towards the youth.
‘There you go then. It’s all there, exactly two-pounds and seventy-six pence. I
just hope this shit’s as good as it smells.’ He stroked his goatee again.
‘Well don’t bother looking too confused, you’ve just sold me your ounce of
skunk. I mean, I would’ve paid more for it but I haven’t been to the bank yet. Listen
son, I’m not stupid. I know exactly who you are, you’re one of Hackett’s messengers,
and I’ll tell you something else, I’m sick to death of the way arseholes like you think
you’re untouchable because of it. He may think he owns this city, but he doesn’t own
me…nobody owns me.’ Their eyes met.
‘Frank sent us with a message, and I didn’t know who you were…honest.’
‘You must know who I am; a few minutes ago I told you I own the place. I
know Hackett isn’t exactly known for his communication skills, but even he must’ve
told you what I look like. So what’s this message then?’
‘He just said…he wants to meet you tomorrow in his…club.’
‘Which club? He owns about three of the bastards.’
‘In… Ro…Rock…’
‘Hot Rocks.’ Mason finished for him.
‘That shithole…what does he want to see me about?’
‘I…don’t know… I think…’
‘Well this is what you do…you go straight back to Frank, and tell him if he
wants to see me, he should get his own stupid fat arse over here...it’s not like he
doesn’t know where to find me is it? Christ, if I’m not here I’m in bastard bed.’
‘The thing is, he…he’s gone to London.’
‘London, what the bloody hell’s he doing down there?’ Donohue turned to
Mason, who merely shrugged.

‘Well he said it was to do with respect or…something,’ the youth replied.
‘So what time does he want to see me then?’
‘Tomorrow at half-two.’
‘Well son…what do you lot usually do when you’re not selling drugs for
Hackett? Mug old ladies, pinch cars…or are you just a bunch of rapists?’ Donohue’s
sarcasm confused the youth.
‘Lenny, do me a favour and get these dickheads out of my sight.’ By this time,
the two felled thugs were recovering; both had their heads buried in bloodstained
hands. Mason grabbed them by their hoods, dragged them towards the fire exit and
used their heads to open the door.
‘What about our gear..?’ Before Donohue could answer, Mason returned and
threw the third yob out in the same manner.
Donohue wiped beads of sweat from his brow with the palm of his hand and
glanced at his watch. He thought Mason was taking forever and hoped he wasn’t
battering them all over the car park. A few minutes later, Mason reappeared.
‘What do you think?’ Donohue asked.
‘About what?’
‘About Frank Hackett wanting to meet me tomorrow, what else?’
‘Well if you ask me, I don’t think it adds up, sending a bunch of hooligans
like that round to your pub to arrange a meeting, it’s not quite his style is it?’
‘I know he’s a psycho, but he’s far from stupid I can tell you. Why the hell
didn’t he just ring?’
‘Well, you know what he’s like Tom; he loves to play mind games.’
‘Yeah, I know…life’s just one big game to him.’ He shakily pulled an
unopened pack of Marlboro from his shirt pocket.

‘Don’t get me wrong Len, I’m not scared of him, I’m just worried about
what he’s capable of…the bastard can be so unpredictable.’
‘Listen, Tom, why don’t you get off home and stop worrying…I’ll keep both
my ears to the ground man…honest.’
‘And how the hell are you going to do that…slice them off and put them under
your fucking bed? Lenny man, I’ve got good reason to be worried. If he wants to see
me then that’s it, I don’t have a choice in the matter; I’ll just have to be there because
I owe the mad bastard a big favour…and guess what else, if this isn’t to do with
something really dodgy, and then I’m a bloody Shaolin Monk’.
He lit a cigarette and immediately wrenched it from his lips spluttering,
realising with bemusement that he’d lit the wrong end.
‘For fuck’s sake.’ He crumpled it up and dropped it into the ashtray.
‘Len, everything’s been going pretty smoothly lately. For the last few years,
there’s been no hassle and I’m not about to let anybody, and I mean anybody mess
things up now. I’m getting too old for this shite…I was even thinking of popping the
question to Cath this weekend…Christ knows why…we hate each other.’
‘Don’t meet him then, tell him you’re ill...I don’t bloody know Tom...’
‘You don’t know Hackett like I do; the bastard’s a maniac…he makes Vlad
the impaler look like Jimmy fucking Saville, and he always, always gets what he
wants. I’m well and truly knackered and there’s no way of getting out of it.’ Donohue
got to his feet and hurriedly made his way to the exit. He felt nauseous with worry.
‘Look after things for me Len, I’ve got to go home and try and get my
head round this...Christ, I’ll even have to tell Cath, because she’ll find out anyway. ’
When he stepped outside, the relentless wind was upon him so he pulled his
jacket collar up around his neck, but it didn’t do any good. He hurried towards his
Lexus.
2 -- HEADS WILL ROLL BIG STYLE
EPPING, ESSEX:
‘Where the fuck are we now?’ forty-year-old Frank “The Hatchet” Hackett
asked as the black Jeep Cherokee 4.7 V8 Overland pulled into a service station off the
M25.
He smiled briefly as he thought of the torture he had in mind, for he despised
disrespect and disloyalty with a passion. His expression changed to one of
momentary confusion. He rubbed his eyes before running his thumb along a four-inch
scar down the left side of his face.
‘We’re in some shithole called Effing or something, I’ve never heard of it
anyway,’ replied Johnny “Skinny” Skinner, who sat behind the driver’s seat, reading a
pornographic magazine.
‘It’s Epping you stupid bastard and what time is it? It must be at least five or
something by now.’ Hackett’s voice sounded tired and husky. He’d been asleep in the
passenger seat for the last hour, and now the heat in the vehicle was unbearable. His
cropped dark and silver hair was damp.

‘Jesus Davey, it’s hotter than summer in fucking hell in here. I’m surprised
you didn’t fall asleep at the wheel and kill the lot of us.’
Davey Dawson was about to open the door when he answered.
‘It’s quarter-past-four, and if you’re that bloody hot why don’t you get out and
stretch your legs, but be warned, it’s minus-one out there.’
Hackett glanced at his own watch for confirmation. Skinner spoke like a spoilt
child.
‘Aw…what are we stopping for? We’re nearly there, aren’t we? You’re the
ones who said to get straight there.’
Dawson turned in his seat and peered over the headrest, running his hand
through his short blonde hair.
‘For a start this thing needs filling up again, that mutt needs the bog judging
by the way it keeps farting and stinking the inside of this Jeep out, and I’m starving.’
Brute, the Rottweiler, let out a low bark. His powerful paws pounded at the
metal mesh, knowing exactly what it meant every time the Jeep stopped. He too was
hungry again.
‘Frank, you’ll have to see to that dog of yours while I get a sandwich or
something.’ The door slammed and Dawson was already busy with one of the fuel
pumps.
‘I like the way he asked if we wanted anything to eat,’ Skinner mumbled from
the back.
‘Shut up, get out, and walk the big fella while I go and see if I can find him
some biscuits or something.’
‘Come on, Frank, it’s your frigging dog and besides, it doesn’t even like me.’
‘With that attitude I’m not surprised. Just sort him out and don’t fucking argue
I can’t be bothered.’
Hackett stepped from the Jeep and his huge bulk headed towards the entrance
of the shop; his head hung low as he jogged against the bitter wind.
Skinner tossed the magazine to one side and pushed his mousey, shoulder-
length hair away from his face. He made an expression as though he was about to
burst into tears like a reprimanded infant at any moment. His pale complexion and
sunken, green eyes, gave him an appearance that was considerably older than his
twenty-seven years. He too stepped from the vehicle, and the wind tore at his face
with a vengeance.
‘This bastard weather.’ He prepared to let the Rottweiler out, knowing exactly
what would happen next. Dawson briefly glanced up from his task.
‘Hey, arsehole, good luck with that monster.’
‘It’s not fair,’ Skinner muttered to himself as he opened the back door. The
huge dog lunged for him but being used to this by now; he quickly sidestepped, turned
and sprinted into the distance closely followed by the dog.
Dawson entered the shop. He was thirty-six, and had the appearance of a
competitor from a bodybuilding contest. He felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Hackett.
‘Here’s two-hundred for the Jeep juice. Is there any dog food in here Davey? I
swear on my mother’s life if I don’t find any, I’ll end up killing that prick, and what I
don’t eat the big fella will,’ he rasped, pointing towards the Jeep, which was now
barely visible in the darkening afternoon.
‘The bastard’s whining voice is driving me fucking mental…even from the
minute we set off he hasn’t stopped moaning. I mean…Davey man, I’m telling you
the shit we sell, I’m surprised he isn’t dead yet…the way he snorts coke you’d think
the fucking world was about to end in the next five-seconds.’
They purchased their goods and returned to the Jeep. They heard distant
barking and something that sounded like a scream carried on the wind. Hackett called
out his dog’s name; the barking changed pitch and grew louder. The animal appeared
from nowhere like a lightning bolt and snatched one of the three sandwiches from his
grasp.
‘What do you think you’re doing you fat bastard, get back here now,’ he
shouted before turning to Dawson.
‘Did you see that…he’s never done that before?’ He glanced at the packaging
on the two remaining sandwiches.
‘Wha-hey, who gives a shit it wasn’t even mine anyway; it was that prick’s
wherever he is.’
It was ten-minutes before Skinner climbed into the Jeep, and the way he was
constantly sniffing made his two companions turn round simultaneously. Hackett’s
grey eyes burned into him fiercely.
‘Lay off that shit will you, we’re not down here on fucking holiday you
know.’
‘What are you on about? I haven’t had anything.’
‘I can see it in your eyes man, and before you ask, the dog scoffed
your sandwich, so if you want something, I suggest you get to the shop for another
one and make it quick because we’re pissing off in two minutes.’ He lit a King
Edward cigar.
‘I don’t even want anything now anyway…aw Christ, Frank, do you have to
smoke that shite…it stinks enough in here as it is, and that stupid dog of yours needs a
muzzle, and I think…’
Hackett’s head spun round.
‘Listen to me, you little wanker. Shut the fuck up and bury your head back in
that filth you’ve been reading because if I so much as sense you exist, I swear on my
mother’s life I’ll make you get out and walk all the way back to Newcastle.’
Skinner thought hard for a moment.
‘How can you swear on your mother’s life when she’s been dead for years?’
Hackett pulled his Beretta 92F 9MM from the inside pocket of his calf-length luxury
winter overcoat; he pulled back the slide to chamber a round and pointed the pistol at
Skinner.
‘This is your very last chance now because you’re on the very verge of
extinction...now fucking shut it.’
Dawson started the engine.
‘I swear on my Mother’s life, when we get to London, heads will roll big
style,’ Hackett said in mid-yawn before he settled back into the leather passenger seat.
3 -- JUST A BIT OF HEROIN
GOSFORTH, TYNE & WEAR:
It was 1:45pm and Donohue stared in disgust at the bacon sandwich, which he’d made
for himself an hour earlier. He didn’t know why he made it, for he was suffering from
two types of illness: a stinking hangover and he was worried sick. When he returned
home last night he got carried away with the Irish whiskey, and now he was regretting
it.
He staggered to the downstairs toilet and plundered the medicine cabinet in
search of Paracetamol. He removed the cap and shook the bottle until three tablets fell
into his shaking hand.
He made straight for the drinks cabinet when he returned to the living room,
and took a generous swig from the bottle of Jameson to wash the tablets down. The
whiskey set his throat on fire causing him to gag, but the feeling soon passed. He was
about to raise the bottle to his lips again, but decided against it.
He went upstairs to the master bedroom and grabbed his Irwin flying jacket
from the wardrobe. He unlocked the top drawer of his bedside cabinet and stood
staring at the Glock 17 for a moment before he carefully picked up the Austrian-made
pistol, studying its beauty as he ran his fingers along the contours of the weapon.
There were three magazines in the drawer as well as the one in the gun itself. He
locked the drawer, put the safety catch on and tucked the weapon into his waistband.
It was time to go.
When he reached Whitley Bay he stepped from his car and scanned the empty
car park at the back of Hot Rocks. The chill hit him unexpectedly; he knew it would
be colder on the coast, but not this cold. The wind wasn’t as strong as he thought it
would be; it was just painfully icy so he zipped his flying jacket up to his neck.
He glanced skywards to the sound of hungry gulls circling above the rooftops
and fleetingly wished that he was one of them. It was now 2:25pm, so he made his
way towards the side entrance. The Glock 17 suddenly felt less reassuring as he
realised that he would inevitably be searched. He quickly hid it beneath a wheelie bin
before he banged on the door, which was opened almost immediately by a burly,
casually dressed man in his forties, who was almost as wide as the doorway itself. His
bald head glistened as though smeared with oil, and when he spoke, his voice was
curiously high pitched.
‘Are you Tommy Donohue?’
‘Yeah and I believe Frank’s expecting me right about now.’
‘I suppose you’d better come in then, but before you do I’ll need to check you
for weapons; it’s nothing personal you understand and don’t get me wrong, Frank
loves guns, but he hates them when they’re in the wrong hands.’
Donohue almost laughed at his comments, knowing that Hackett’s hands

couldn’t be more wrong to handle any sort of weapon. When he’d been frisked, the
burly man led him up three flights of stairs towards Hackett’s office. It seemed a
lifetime ago since he ascended the same mahogany staircase; nothing much had
changed, not even his feeling of foreboding, but he hoped it would be the last time he
would set foot in this evil domain.
Pungent clouds of cigar smoke greeted him when he entered the office.
Hackett rose to his feet and a huge smile lit up his face as he outstretched his right
hand across the desk. Donohue shook it reluctantly, knowing that the smile meant the
task he had in store was as bad as he’d anticipated. Hackett loosened his grip and sat
back down.
‘Wha-hey Tommy my old son, it’s been a long time. I see you still haven’t had
a haircut. Take a seat.’
‘No thanks, it’ll clash with my décor.’ Hackett glanced towards Dawson, then
Skinner. Donohue sat in the chair offered to him. There was another occupant in the
room staring out of the window, seemingly oblivious to the meeting about to take
place; he was stocky with short grey hair and was dressed in an olive-green suit.
Donohue thought he recognised his stature, but he had his back to everybody in the
room.
The sudden, booming laughter startled him; it came from Hackett first, then
Skinner and Dawson. The occupant at the window didn’t flinch.
‘Wha-hey, I also see you still have a crap sense of humour old son.’
Now Donohue was grinning.
‘Well, Frank, if it’s that crap, why are you all laughing?’
Hackett leaned back in his seat; he was dressed in a white t-shirt, jeans, and
trainers, which looked out of place on him.

‘What are you drinking these days? Are you still on the old Irish whiskey as
well as everything else in sight? What can I get you?’
‘Actually I’m driving, so I’d better not.’
‘Come on Tommy, since when has that ever stopped you?’
‘Okay Frank, you’ve twisted my arm…I’ll have any Scotch or Irish you’ve got
apart from blended, and make it a small one.’
‘Blended, now Tom, that’s an insult, and if…’
‘Listen Frank, why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind? I mean we
both know I’m not here for a bloody card game.’
Hackett handed him a measure of Dalwhinnie 15 year single malt.
‘I’ve only got scotch. Personally Tom, I’ve never really been a big fan of that
Irish triple distilled shit you always ram down your neck, it’s spelt different...’
‘It’s the wrong colour for a start and it looks like an old man’s piss,’ Skinner
quipped.
Hackett gestured towards him with a King Edward between thumb and
forefinger.
‘Who the fuck rattled your cage, you stupid little prick?’
There was a bandage on Skinner’s right hand, and a large plaster above his
right eye. He screwed up his face and slumped back into his chair.
‘I was only trying to agree with you Frank, that’s all.’
‘Well speak when you’re spoken to, you skinny little bastard.’
Hackett picked up a heavy steel paperweight from his desk and threw it with
such force, that it smashed into the wall inches above Skinner’s head, causing a
nearby painting to fall to the floor with a loud crash.
‘Steady on Frank, you were speaking to me that time.’

Hackett searched for another object to hurl in his direction; he picked up his
mobile phone with his left hand and was about to throw that also, but changed his
mind when it started to ring. He glanced at the display and frowned.
‘What the bloody hell does she want now…fucking wife.’
He quickly turned off his phone and focused his attention back on Donohue,
who needed answers.
‘Right then, let’s press on. Yesterday, I had to go all the way to London and
back, which wasn’t much fun and that’s the truth.’
‘I heard about that…what the hell were you doing down there?’
‘Well you could say it was a bit of business, I say it was pure pandemonium.
That skinny little cokehead never stopped moaning all day, I swear on my Mother’s
life, if the bastard sinks any further down, he’ll be lower than shark shit.’
Skinner interrupted again, irritating Hackett even more.
‘Well Frank, you’re the one who dragged me all the way down there, I wanted
to stay up here and run things for you.’
Hackett stared at him in disbelief.
‘Run things…you’re about as much use as a one-legged centipede, and if you
open your fucking mouth again, I’ll kick you around this office so many times, I’ll
need a new pair of trainers by the time I’ve finished…now shut it.’ He turned his
attention back to Donohue.
‘This is the kind of shit I’ve got to put up with. Anyway, like I was
saying…as you know, Davey here is my right-hand man and I can trust him with my
life; he did the decent thing and drove hundreds of miles there and back in my trusty
Jeep, so for that kind gesture he can have a couple of days off.’
Donohue downed his drink and placed the empty tumbler on the desk. Hackett
handed him the bottle.
‘Help yourself Tommy; you might very well need it.’
‘I’ve already told you, I’m driving, and anyway I don’t feel too good.’
‘Fair enough. By the way old son, what’s this I hear about that ape of yours,
Mason messing up two of my boys yesterday?’
‘Well, they came into my pub and started waving knives about and acting like
complete arseholes, what did you expect? We didn’t even know you’d sent them until
afterwards anyway. You should choose your boys more carefully…Christ, they were
only kids.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Hackett barked as he shot Skinner a cursory glance.
‘Right then, let’s forget about those fuckwits. Have you heard of a kid called
Andy Birch?’
Donohue shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘Yeah, well the name’s familiar, should I know him?’
‘Well let’s just say not too long ago, he ceased to exist. The bastard tried to
make off with five-grand of my money. Don’t get me wrong, five-grand is peanuts to
me; I would use it to wipe my arse if I ran out of bog roll, but it’s the principal of the
thing…the fact is, I trusted the thieving little weasel.’
‘Yeah, we found him hiding out in North London no less,’ Dawson added.
Hackett took a long drag on his cigar before he continued.
‘That’s right; he actually thought he could hide from…me.’
‘So how the hell did you manage to track him all the way to London?’
Donohue asked glancing from one face to another. The figure at the window still
didn’t turn round.
Hackett blew a series of smoke rings towards the ceiling.

‘Well put it this way, I didn’t need to be Columbo to figure it out; the toe rag
left more clues than Charles fucking Manson and needless to say, I didn’t get all my
money back which is what I expected, but I paid him in good faith all the same.’ He
rose from his seat and began to pace the room with his hands behind his back. He
stared down at his feet, disgusted with his makeshift footwear.
‘You know Tommy…the most important commodity in life is respect.’
Donohue sighed. Here we go again, he thought despairingly.
‘Respect isn’t something that gets handed to you on a plate, respect is
something you have to earn. All over this city, everywhere you look, what do you
see..? Disrespect, and let me tell you this…you don’t get very far in this life being
disrespectful. Take me for instance, the only reason I am where I am today, is simply
because I’ve earned plenty of respect. My dad was a well-respected figure in his day
let me tell you, he was the champion bare-knuckle fighter on the Town Moor and
he…’
‘Frank, what’s this all about, what the hell am I doing here?’
‘Be patient Tommy old son, I’m coming to that. What goes hand-in-hand with
respect? Can anybody in this room combine that important accessory with another and
come up with a feasible answer?’ Hackett waited patiently for a reply.
This time, the occupant facing the window spoke for the first time and
Donohue thought he recognised the gruff West Scottish accent, but he couldn’t be
sure.
‘If you don’t have respect, then you don’t have trust, it’s as simple as that.’
‘That’s exactly right,’ Hackett replied as he sat back down and poured himself
a measure of whisky.
‘You see Tommy, respect, and trust are as one, and there’s no getting away
from it.’ Hackett leaned forward and ran his finger along the scar on his face.
‘Do you remember how I got this?’
‘Well I should do Frank, I was there remember…you chopped up a very good
friend of mine with a hatchet on the school playing field, just because somebody
owed you protection money.’
‘I chopped him up because the bastard disrespected me…’
‘Because of you Frank, Bobby Smith ended up in the loony bin with half his
face missing…his brain scrambled, thanks to your hatchet.’
Hackett changed the subject.
‘The point is, I trusted that maggot Birch, and because I trusted him…I should
have earned his respect, but he let me down big time. People like that don’t have any
place on this earth…plain and simple.’
Donohue shifted position again.
‘Why did you pay him five grand in the first place?’
‘Well all I asked him to do was a piss-easy job for me. I wouldn’t have
minded too much if he’d only tried but failed, but it seems the little cunt never had
any intention of following the task through in the first place.’
Skinner interrupted again.
‘The little bastard even spent some of our money, isn’t that right Frank?’
‘It was my money not our money and I won’t tell you again, you stupid little
prick, shut it. Now where was I…oh yeah, I paid him five grand to pick up a
package from Amsterdam, but instead he pissed off to London…he was having the
time of his life on the fucking Playstation 2 when we caught up with him.’
He left his seat and paced the room again.
‘I tell you Tommy; I don’t know what the hell this world is coming to when
you can’t even trust your own work colleagues. I sometimes even used to treat him
like a son, and what do I get in return..? He just pisses all over me.’
‘What was in the package?’ Donohue asked.
‘Oh you know, just a bit of heroin.’
‘How much heroin are we talking about exactly Frank?’
‘Four kilograms to be precise.’
Donohue’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Four kilos,’ he squealed.
The olive suit turned round this time. Tommy stared at him in disbelief and
felt the colour drain from his face. It was DS Will Harrison, the supervisor of the drug
squad, that carried out “Operation Operand” five years ago, which, turned out to be a
complete disaster – no arrests were made. Now Donohue knew why he thought he
recognised his voice earlier. He couldn’t quite place the back of him because his hair
was dark the last time he’d seen him. No wonder it’s grey now if he’s been having
dealings with Hackett, he thought. He too was smoking a King Edward.
Hackett gestured towards a vacant seat.
‘You remember Will Harrison don’t you Tommy my old son?’
‘Well I ought to, seeing as him and Johnson once arrested me on possession
of a measly bag of grass, that wasn’t even mine. What’s he got to do with anything?’
Harrison was a broad man in his mid-forties. His small green eyes never left
Donohue’s when he spoke.
‘A quarter of that heroin is mine; me and the boys here were going to make a
nice profit from that shit. In fact, we still are going to make a nice profit. By the time
it’s been cut by the experts, it’ll be worth an absolute bloody fortune on the streets.’
Donohue’s eyes widened in disbelief; it was like a demonic nightmare from

which he couldn’t awake. He did know one thing for sure, he knew where this was
leading, and he was dreading the next few minutes.
‘Frank, I know this is going to sound a bit…well personal if you like, but why
did you pay him all the money up-front?’ He stroked his goatee while waiting for a
reply.
‘That’s a good question. Apart from trusting him, I think I must be going
prematurely senile or something.’
Skinner interrupted again.
‘Yeah, and not to mention the mad bastard smacking me over the head with a
shovel; I still can’t hear properly in my right ear.’
‘It was your own fault for turning your back on him you stupid little fucking
sperm stain. I swear on my Mother’s life, you must have a death wish, now shut it
when I’m trying to conduct business.’
Hackett drained his glass and turned back to Donohue. The office was in
silence; it seemed as though everybody was suddenly lost for words. The DS was the
first one to speak.
‘Why don’t you tell our friend here about the mission you’ve got lined up for
him?’
‘Mission, I like it. That’s a good one don’t you think, Frank?’ Dawson
sniggered.
Hackett scratched his head, grinning. He toyed with his empty glass before he
began to laugh, his three companions followed suit and soon the office was filled with
manic laughter. Donohue wasn’t laughing – he knew the joke was on him.
Hackett raised his right hand and abruptly, the silence returned. He leaned
back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head; the humour disappeared from
his expression.
‘Now Look Tom old son, how much do you make a year from the Lion’s Den?
It can’t be much and let’s face it, it’s only a little shithole pub on the outskirts of
Gateshead isn’t it, and how much does your lass make from running that little
backstreet café…I bet it’s next to fuck all.’
‘Well Frank, I hate to disappoint you, but we do all right,’ he lied. He’d been
having financial difficulties for some time now, he only had about two thousand
pounds left in his account.
‘Obviously, we don’t make as much money as you because we’re not quite as
respected as you.’
Donohue wished he hadn’t used sarcasm in his last sentence, but luckily, it
went unnoticed. Hackett’s voice was still calm when he spoke again.
‘The thing is, I want you to go to Amsterdam and pick up that package for
me…for us, and before you say anything, I’ll even cut you in for a percentage
and a couple of hundred for expenses. How’s that sound?’
‘Well Frank, I’ll be totally Frank, excuse the pun, it sounds absolutely fucking
insane, and that’s putting it mildly. You want me to go to Amsterdam and pick up
four kilograms of pure heroin and bring it here just like that? You make it sound like
you’re sending me to the shop for a pint of milk…four kilos is a lot of smack, where
do you expect me to hide it, in my trouser pocket?’
Hackett sprang to his feet, picked up the whisky bottle and hurled it across
the room; it exploded against the office door.
‘You can shove it up your arse as far as I’m concerned you ginger-haired
prick.’ He leaned towards Donohue, gripping the desk so tightly, that his knuckles
turned white. His voice became more aggressive with each word he spoke.
‘I invite you into my office to offer you a deal…a simple mission, and all you
can do is disrespect me. I even offer you a percentage when we both know you owe
me big style. Have you already forgotten what I did for you seven years ago? You
should be doing this for free…for nowt.’
Hackett fell back into his seat; his voice was quieter, but still tinged with
anger.
‘One way or another, you’re going to Amsterdam on Tuesday morning
whether you like it or not so get it into your head, and keep it there.’
He opened his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope, which he threw across
the desk. Donohue tore it open and to his horror, two plane tickets fell into his lap.
‘Why do I need two tickets?’
‘Try using your imagination old son, obviously you’re not planning on going
alone are you? However, the choice is entirely yours but I thought you could use some
back-up.’
‘Like who?’ Donohue asked incredulously.
‘What about that ape Lenny Mason; he’s usually up for anything isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, but I don’t think this is quite his thing, in fact, he hates anything to
do with hard drugs…he’s a bouncer, not a smuggler.’
‘Tommy old son, you know as well as I do that he’s a degenerate gambler;
he’ll gamble on anything.’
‘That’s just it; he’s a degenerate gambler, which means he never wins
anything, and he’s a fucking jinx…anyway, I don’t think even he would gamble
on his life.’
Donohue rose unsteadily to his feet and glared at the tickets as though they
were two highly venomous arachnids ready to strike. Hackett’s voice startled him.
‘What’s the problem old son? You’ve gone a bit pale.’ When Donohue spoke,
Hackett detected a hint of fear in his voice, which he revelled in.
‘If you must know Frank, I’m shit-scared of flying. I’ve only ever been on a
plane twice, and the thing nearly went down in a storm the second time. One of the
engines conked out; everybody on board was screaming their heads off, even the
fucking pilot.’
Hackett suddenly launched into another laughing fit, followed by the others.
Donohue turned to leave when the laughter subsided, but Harrison’s voice stopped
Him abruptly.
‘By the way, those two ounces of dope I did you for last year…you were right,
it was me who planted them.’
‘It’s obvious it was you, so what…am I supposed to be pissed off after all this
time? Another thing, how can I be sure this isn’t another set-up?’
Hackett cleared his throat.
‘Aw come on Tommy, what do you take me for…what reason could I possibly
have for dropping you in the shit?’
‘It’s not you I don’t trust Frank; it’s that bastard over there,’ Donohue pointed
to the DS.’ He lied though, for Hackett was the last person he’d ever trust.
‘Try showing the gentleman some respect Tommy because he’s in this with
me, and I don’t stitch anybody up you should know that by now.’
Donohue stared at the tickets again.
‘Look, has it ever crossed your mind what will happen if I’m caught with that
amount of stuff? I mean Jesus…you don’t get your smack and I get banged up for
God knows how long. With all the power and wealth you have, surely you can come
up with a safer way of getting the stuff across…what about one of your private yachts
or something…you’re asking me to take a massive risk.’
The DS spoke again.
‘If you pull this off Tommy, then I’ll see to it that all future charges are
waived.’
‘What do you mean future charges, who says there’s going to be any? I’m not
a bloody criminal you know,’ Donohue turned to Hackett.
‘Please Frank, you can’t pick me for a job like this…of all the people on earth,
I must be the most unlikely candidate.’
‘You’re going by plane and I don’t want to hear any more shit like: You’re
scared of flying, it’s a set-up, you’ll get locked-up, Lenny’s bad luck, just get on that
plane on Tuesday morning, and be back here no later than Friday night. I mean, get a
ferry back if flying scares you that much, go sightseeing, get stoned or whatever, but
be back here by Friday night and don’t even think about doing a disappearing act.
Remember, those are one-way tickets so you’ll have to make your own way back.’
Skinner decided to risk speaking again.
‘How’s that tart of yours? I can look after her if you like and show her what a
real man can do. I’ve been in her café a few times lately, and I can tell by the way she
looks at me…the bitch is up for anything. I bet she likes to be fucked hard and fast
up the arse while her tits are being squeezed.’
Donohue shook his head, grinning in disbelief as Hackett leapt to his feet and
grabbed Skinner by the throat.
‘I won’t tolerate disrespect of any kind in my presence do you understand me
you little fucking prick? Tommy’s here to do business, not to listen to you insulting
his other-half, you sick bastard. Now you’re going to apologise to him for such
callous remarks.’
‘Ok I’m sorry T…Tommy, I’m s…sorry.’ Hackett promptly released his grip.
He returned to his desk, and opened the drawer again. He handed Donohue another
envelope.
‘That’s the name of the hotel where you’ll find the location of the goods and
all the details you need. All you have to do is check in to the correct room.’
Donohue asked one more question.
‘What the hell happens if the room is already occupied?’
‘At this time of year, come on Tom, use your imagination. Anyway, I’ve
arranged for it not to be.’
On his way to the door, Donohue turned to face Skinner, who was grinning
sadistically. Donohue also grinned.
‘You couldn’t fuck your own arse if your cock was big enough.’ He turned to
Hackett.
‘You know me Frank, I’m a pacifist, which means I’m opposed to violence of
any kind whatsoever just to make a point, but sometimes, exceptions have to be made,
so I suggest you keep this child molesting, perverted bastard on a leash and well away
from me.’
Skinner turned to Hackett harshly.
‘Frank…did you hear what he said? You can’t let him get away with that.’
Hackett jumped to his feet.
‘You asked for it you skinny little arsehole, now fucking sit down before I
knock you down.’
Donohue grinned again.
‘As I said before, you really should choose your boys more carefully Frank.’
Before he could retrieve his Glock 17, Donohue doubled over and threw up
onto the tarmac. His throat felt like he’d been swallowing razorblades and his eyes
stung. He leaned against the wall for support before retching again, but his empty
stomach refused to bring forth any more alcohol. Eventually he stared up at the club
through moist eyes, and the blurred, forbidding building made him feel like the
loneliest man on earth. He had a strong, uneasy feeling that it was going to be a long
cold winter fraught with dread and destruction.

4 -- WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR?
When he reached The Lions Den, a thick blanket of darkness had fallen, heavily
shrouding the building and nearby properties.
The usual regulars sat drinking, as well as faces he didn’t recognise
playing pool or darts. The jukebox was belting out rock music and the bar was in a
haze of cigarette smoke as always. He ordered a treble Jameson. Lenny Mason and
Douglas Henshall (his other bouncer friend) appeared on either side of him.
‘I need to talk to you in the office right away Len,’ Donohue instructed as he
finished his drink. He headed for the stairs followed by Mason.
The office was normally small and cosy, but today it was cold, dark, and
dingy. Donohue turned on the halogen heater before opening the blinds, which did
little to penetrate the gloom, so he turned on the light. He sat behind his desk and
poured himself a large measure of Bushmills. Mason sat opposite, leaning back in his
Chair; he folded his thick arms across his broad chest.
‘What’s your poison Len?’
‘I’ll have a Brandy if you don’t mind.’
Donohue found an opened box of Marlboro in the desk drawer; he lit one and
also leaned back in his chair while Mason broke the silence.
‘What happened with Frankie the psycho then?’
Donohue told him.
‘Jesus Christ, he doesn’t do things by halves does he? What are you going to
do about it?’
Donohue inhaled deeply on the cigarette.
‘Well I don’t see that I’ve got much choice in the matter, I’ve got to go to
Amsterdam on Tuesday, and that’s it…end of story.’
‘Can’t he find some other mug to do his dirty work? You’re not a drug
smuggler.’
Donohue downed most of his drink and gazed at the ceiling for a long moment
before he faced his friend.
‘Have you heard of somebody called Andy Birch?’ Mason stared into his
cognac.
‘Yeah, he’s just a young pusher for Hackett isn’t he?’
‘Well he was. I think Hackett killed him yesterday for not doing the same job
he’s got lined up for me.’
‘Did he tell you this himself?’
‘Not in so many words, but it’ll be a fucking miracle if the poor bastard’s still
walking around.’
‘What time are you supposed to go on Tuesday?’

Donohue finished his drink, pulled the two tickets from his shirt pocket and
threw them onto the desk. Mason hastily picked them up.
‘Why’s he given you two tickets?’
Donohue rolled his eyes and got to his feet. He gazed through the blinds into
the darkness.
‘Oh that’s just in case I lose one of them, why the hell do you think Lenny? He
thinks I need some sort of back up or support. Call it whatever you like.’
‘Well I must admit Tom; I could do with a winter vacation. When do we have
to be back?’
Donohue spun round.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Think about it Tom, who else can you trust with something like this?’
Donohue let out a sigh of relief.
‘Are you absolutely sure about this?’
‘What are friends for? I owe you a few favours anyway.’
‘I know Len, but this could be dangerous.’
‘What’s the point in living if you can’t live in danger?’
‘Well…if you’re sure, we’ve got to be back by Friday night.’
Mason rose to his feet.
‘Well that’s settled then, ten-thirty Tuesday morning…Amsterdam, here we
come.’
‘Remember Lenny, this is hardly a vacation, and another thing…I would
appreciate it if you could keep this under wraps until we get back. If we get back.’
Donohue locked the office and followed Mason downstairs. He glanced at his
watch. It was 4:55pm.

‘How’s everything going with Cath? Are you still going to pop the question
tonight?’ Mason asked over his shoulder. Donohue couldn’t believe how calm his
friend was; this was going to be the most dangerous task they would ever undertake,
and he was acting as though they were about to embark on a fantastic adventure. That
was Lenny Mason all over, always up for anything, anytime.
‘Well actually Len, with everything that’s going on at the minute, I think it’s
wise not to even think of marriage, let alone mention it tonight. I don’t even feel like
going out now anyway, but like everything else at the minute…I don’t have a bloody
choice in the matter.’
He didn’t feel as intoxicated as he’d expected when he entered the bar and
wondered if the old cliché was true about drinking yourself sober.
Henshall was standing by the exit sipping a pint of Lager and smoking a
cigarette. He suddenly approached the bar.
‘How you doing mate? You look a bit pale.’
Henshall’s fringe was covering his eyes as usual. He was forty-one and short,
but built like a tank.
‘Now you know better than to ask questions of that calibre Nick, but if you
must know, things couldn’t be better. Hunky Dory in fact…’ The vibration against his
leg startled him when his mobile rang. He opened it and glanced at the display. He
hurried out to his car.
‘Listen lads, I’m off…and remember Len, not a word,’ he said while Henshall
was preoccupied.
He slammed the car door shut and cursed loudly before he answered the call.
‘Hi babe, how you doing?’
The woman on the phone didn’t sound pleased.

‘Tom, I thought you were supposed to call me at one this afternoon, where the
bloody hell are you?’
He closed his eyes tightly.
‘I’m sorry pet, but I’ve got that much on at the moment…it just slipped my
mind, look…’
‘You haven’t asked her yet have you Tom? Please tell me you haven’t gone
through with it.’
He paused for a moment.
‘Look babes when I got home yesterday, all Cath could talk about was
Christmas presents so I couldn’t really say anything, let alone ask for her hand in
marriage. Anyway, I got a bit pissed and fell asleep on the couch. You know what
she’s like this time of year, I can’t get a word in at the best of times.’
‘Tom I’m the one who loves you not her, and I hope you know that.’
He heard her stifle a sob.
‘Look babe…I don’t even love Cath. Like I’ve said before, I don’t even know
why she moved in without asking me first. Listen, I have to go soon because I’ve got
a meal booked for tonight, God help me.’
‘Tom, I really can’t take much more of this crap, I thought you said we’d be
together soon.’
‘We will be, but I’ve got a lot to deal with at the minute hun.’
‘I can’t stand much more of that arsehole bloke of mine, his paranoia is
driving me mental and I really don’t want to spend weeks drinking soup through a
straw because of his childish bloody mood swings.’
Donohue frowned.
‘He hasn’t been hitting you again has he?’

‘No but it’s just a matter of time. Tom love, we seriously need to talk, we have
to sort things out because…’
‘Look sweetheart, I really have to go, I’m going to be late at this rate.’
‘You sound like you just don’t care, you’re going on like you’ve had your fun
and….now you’re just going to toss me aside like an empty pizza box. Bloody hell
Tom, you’re as much a part of this relationship as me and don’t you flipping forget it.’
‘Relationship…you keep telling me it’s an affair.’ He immediately regretted
his words.
‘Don’t you dare patronise me,’ she shouted down the phone. He grimaced
and held the mobile from his face until her ranting stopped. He sighed and was
about to speak when she beat him to it.
‘I think I’m pregnant,’
Donohue thought his heart was going to explode.
‘How…when...I…I mean…who’s is it?’
‘Well it’s got to be yours because I haven’t been near that bastard in months,
well not in the bedroom department anyway. Tom I’m really frightened, I don’t know
where to turn.’
Donohue screwed his eyes shut and stroked his goatee. This just gets better
and better, he thought.
‘How…do you know? Are you sure? Have you used one of th...those home
pregnancy test things?’
‘Use your imagination Tom man, I haven’t had a period for two days and I’m
as regular as your birthday. Anyway, those kits aren’t accurate for a few days, and
that’s the worse thing…sitting around, tearing my hair out and waiting. Tom what the
hell are we going to do if I am pregnant? I don’t want to get rid of it.’

Donohue held his head in his free hand for a while.
‘Look babe, I’ll meet you at the same place tomorrow night, and we can
discuss it properly then. Half-seven in the usual place okay?’
‘Okay Tom love, and please don’t be late again…this is important.’ She hung
up.
He sat staring at his mobile for a moment before turning it off and starting the
car. Now he had two problems to contend with. He couldn’t believe how much his life
had changed in just a couple of hours.

5 -- HE’LL HAVE ALL THE BACK-UP HE NEEDS
BYKER, TYNE & WEAR. JULY 1980:
It was a hot summer’s afternoon and the warm breeze gently blowing through the
window did little to alleviate the humidity inside the classroom.
Tommy Donohue observed Mick Wilson, who was sitting a few desks
opposite him and noticed new beads of sweat forming on his brow each time he wiped
them away with the back of his sleeve. He knew that it wasn’t just the heat making
him perspire so profusely. He also noticed the way he fidgeted nervously in his seat,
and the way he kept glancing at the wall clock above the blackboard. Donohue also
glanced at the clock it was 3:44pm. It was almost time.
The sound of scraping chairs and voices of over-enthusiastic pupils virtually
drowned out the end-of-school bell. The shrill ringing was sweet sounding music to
every scholar except Tommy Donohue and Mick Wilson, for it filled them with fear
and dread.
The teacher barking the usual orders about homework and projects at the end
of each day was normally just a meaningless, distant drone to most of the class, but
Wilson didn’t hear it at all today; he had more important things on his mind than
schoolwork. He was tall and well built for a fifteen-year-old, and he knew he could
take care of himself, but today would probably be the biggest challenge of his life.
He flinched slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ Donohue asked in a worried tone.
Wilson faced him sternly.
‘I can’t back down now, I’ve said I’ll fight him and that’s what I’ve got to
fucking well do. It’s about time somebody stood up to that bastard; he’s just a fucking
bully and a coward.’
‘This is Frank Hackett you’re talking about and I’ve seen him in action loads
of times. He runs a protection racket in the playground for fuck’s sake, what does that
tell you?’
‘Tommy, him and his cronies have threatened to gang rape Mandy if I don’t
pay him. Well I’m not fucking having it and that’s that.’
They both turned round sharply when Wilson’s girlfriend shouted from further
down the corridor. She hurried towards them, pushing past scholars and teachers
alike. When she approached, she was out of breath. Wilson ran his hand through his
collar-length bleached blonde hair; his dark blue eyes fixed on his girlfriend.
‘What the hell are you doing here? I told you to keep out of this.’
Mandy Lester was in the year above Wilson; she was slim and petite; her
Jet-black spiky hair and dark, punk-style make-up melted his heart as always, but he
didn’t want to listen.

Some considered her a freak, but to most of the school population, she was a
rebellious Goddess. She normally had a slow, husky voice, which oozed sex appeal,
but now it was high-pitched with hysteria.
‘Please don’t do this Mick; he’s outside with all his mates. Tommy, please
try and talk some sense into him before he gets himself bloody killed.’
Donohue simply held out his hands in defeat.
‘I’ve tried to talk him out of it, but you know what he’s like. Besides, he’ll
have all the back-up he needs.’ He nodded towards a group of youths, which were
moving up the corridor towards them.
Wilson took a deep breath.
‘Right then, let’s get it over with lads.’
The group, led by Wilson moved swiftly onwards towards the exit. Mandy
followed closely behind; her voice still hysterical.
‘Mick, will you please fucking listen to me man…this is stupid. Hackett’s a
maniac.’
Wilson stopped in his tracks; he swung round to meet her worried glare.
‘Look, this is something I’ve really got to do. If I back out of it now, the
whole fucking school will think I’m as soft as shite and anyway, I’m doing this for the
both of us. You’re either with me or against me on this.’
He turned and hurriedly caught up with the group, leaving his girlfriend to
scream after him.
‘I get it; this is all about your stupid pride isn’t it? Well if you go through with
this madness me and you are fucking finished, do you understand…finished.’
When the group had finally left the main building, there were still hundreds of
pupils making their way towards the main gates, but Frank Hackett and his gang were
nowhere in sight amongst the retreating crowds.
‘Where the fuck are they?’ asked Billy “The Bruiser” Bradshaw. He was a
stout sixteen-year-old skinhead who loved a good fight.
‘I thought Mandy said they were out here waiting,’ Donohue replied as he
scanned the school grounds.
They quickly turned and headed towards the field behind the bike sheds,
stopping dead in their tracks when they reached the edge of the field.
Hackett and his gang were gathered at the perimeter fence. Wilson was mortified.
‘Fucking hell, I think we’re outnumbered…it’s like fucking Zulu; there’s only
five of us and thirty-odd of them, what the fuck are we going to do?’
‘It’s supposed to be you against him remember, but I trust Hackett as much as
I trust that bastard Thatcher,’ Donohue remarked calmly.
Hackett began to walk across the field towards them.
‘What now?’ Bradshaw asked.
‘Just stay calm and don’t say a fucking word, I’ll do the talking,’ Wilson said.
There was fear in his voice, which the others noticed. He also began to move forward.
They both stopped when there was about six-feet between them, and well out of
earshot of the two gangs.
‘I wish to God I could hear what they’re saying,’ Shaun Morrison another
member of Wilson’s group said.
‘Wha-hey Mickey my old son, this is payday and I want my fucking money
you stupid prick.’
Wilson took in Hackett’s attire: cream loafers; two-tone drainpipe trousers
held up with braces; blue shirt. He was even wearing a black over-coat, which reached
his knees although it was a scorching day. His hair was cut into a fashionable wedge.
Wilson thought it looked like a Pyrex bowl, or a Tupperware tub. He was about to
reply when a distant frantic voice made him turn towards the bike sheds. Mandy
Lester was running towards them, waving something in her outstretched hand.
‘I knew something like this would happen. When a lass gets involved in
this kind of shite, things always go from worse to fucking rubbish,’ Donohue said
shaking his head in dismay.
‘God Almighty Mandy, I told you to stay out of this, why can’t you just listen
to me?’ Wilson shouted as she thrust a ten-pound note towards Hackett. Her ruined
eye make-up was a mass of black streaks from the tears she was still shedding.
‘Please F…Frank, I’m b…begging you, please take this money, it’s all I’ve
got. There’s n…no need for all this…please.’
‘Well well well, if it isn’t the slut herself.’
Hackett snatched the money from her, and using a disposable lighter, he lit the
note; all three watched as it burned rapidly; Hackett was the only one smiling. He
crumpled the ashes in his fist and blew them towards her.
‘I don’t want your money; he’s the one who owes me not you.’
He punched her hard in the mouth, dislodging a tooth. She yelped and fell
backwards onto the grass. Wilson lunged for him.
‘You fucking cowardly bastard, you’re fucking dead.’
A fist caught Hackett square in the jaw and he hardly flinched, he merely took
a step backwards; then he too lunged forward grabbing both sides of Wilson’s head.
He head butted him full in the face, pulverizing his nose. He fell in a bloodied heap on
top of his girlfriend.
Hackett towered over them, screaming uncontrollably.
‘First of all you don’t pay me what’s mine, then you challenge me in a fucking
fight and now you’ve got the fucking nerve to raise your hands to me. I might have
left in Easter, but I still fucking run this shithole school, and I take money from
whoever I like whenever I like.’
Morrison and Bradshaw inched forward.
‘Stay here whatever you do,’ Donohue warned as Hackett began to stamp on
Wilson’s head.
‘We’ve got to do something before he fucking kills him. I thought you said
we’re supposed to be his back-up,’ Bobby Smith, the fifth member of the group said.
He pulled out a craft knife. His tall frame ran towards the grisly scene; he
slashed Hackett down the left side of his face before he had time to raise his arm in
defence. Hackett put his hand to his wound and when he took it away, it was
glistening red. Smith struck again, this time slicing through his overcoat and opening
up his forearm.
‘Look what you’ve done to my fucking coat, you twat,’ Hackett bellowed as
he pulled out a joiner’s hatchet and swung it at Smith.
The tool was brand-new, razor-sharp and unused, so it had little problem
slicing through the left side of his jaw, almost severing it from his face; the hatchet
being so embedded, that the blade made a slight bulge in his right cheek. The blood
from the appalling wound splashed onto Hackett’s shirt mixing with his own blood
from his slashed face, which was now flowing profusely. Smith instinctively grabbed
the axe handle with both hands as Hackett tried to pull it free, grinning at the pathetic
gurgling sounds his victim was making.
By now, Hackett’s gang were rapidly approaching the mayhem, and each
member carried a weapon of some description.
With a sudden violent jerk, Hackett wrenched the hatchet from Smith’s face,
leaving his jaw to fall and rest on his upper-chest; it was hanging by a few thin strands
of skin and muscle tissue. Part of his gum (complete with three-teeth still attached)
fell onto the field. Hackett swung the weapon again as though he was defeating a
monster in a recurring nightmare.
Smith put his right hand up in defence; two of his fingers came off with ease.
More blood spurted, which only fuelled Hackett’s lust for even more bloodshed.
Smith tried to scream in pain and terror, but only a loud, muffled rasp could escape
his dislodged lips. Hackett adored the resigned look on his face; he loved the terror
and realisation of defeat in his opponent’s eyes. He was about to swing the hatchet
again, when a baseball bat-wielding member of his gang grabbed his arm from
behind. Hackett turned to face him with pure fury in his eyes.
‘Fucking hell Frank you idiot, don’t kill him. You said it was a fair-fight
between you and Wilson,’ the thug shouted.
‘If you want to end up on a murder charge, well that’s up to you. We’re
supposed to be here to watch your fucking back, not for you to chop people up,’
another member of Hackett’s gang cut in.
Hackett stood motionless as his associates gathered around him, shouting the
rights and wrongs of the law. He glanced from one face to another, bewildered at the
lack of respect for their leader.
In the moments that followed, there was complete chaos; disagreements were
exchanged which resulted in weapons being raised and eventually used amongst
themselves, resulting in Hackett and his gang caving-in on each other. Donohue and
the three uninjured members rushed forward to rescue their three friends; they quickly
led them away from the mayhem. Smith proved the most difficult to help as he’d
passed out. But Donohue and Bradshaw swiftly carried his blood-soaked, limp body
to safety, not bothering to try and find his missing fingers, it would only be too much
of a long and pointless task.
Not until they reached the bike sheds did they chance a look over their
shoulders. The gang were still fighting each other so they continued to make their
escape, and only when they finally reached the school gates did they realise they were
out of any immediate danger – for the time being at least……

6 -- HAPPY CHRISTMAS CRUEL WORLD
After a surprisingly easy journey home, Donohue closed the front door behind him.
The house was as empty as he’d left it earlier. He locked his gun away before hanging
his flying jacket back up in the wardrobe. He suddenly felt hungry.
There were half-a-dozen tins of spicy mackerel in the kitchen cupboard. He
took two, quickly grabbed a fork from the draining board, and returned to the living
room. He devoured the first tin, frowning as though something was missing from the
flavour. When he opened the second tin, he went back into the kitchen and returned
with pepper and vinegar. He added a generous helping of both condiments to the fish
before devouring it in the same manner.
He needed some music, so he decided to fiddle with the satellite TV channels
until he found Planet Rock – his favourite radio station. Life’s been good, by Joe
Walsh was a third of the way through, and he thought the song was quite apt
considering his present predicament.

He dozed, and when he heard the familiar sound of the Nissan Almera doors
closing, he rushed to the window. Thirty-four-year-old Cath Elliott and her two sons
laden with bags made their way unsteadily, but promptly towards the front door. They
were having a day off school to go Christmas shopping.
‘Sorry we’re late Tom, I feel like I’ve been in every bloody shop in Eldon
Square,’ Cath said as she lay down five carrier bags and quickly made for the
bathroom, mumbling something about needing the toilet. Her two sons excitedly told
him about their day and the various purchases made. He pulled a partially visible item
from the nearest bag; it was the latest Grand Theft Auto Playstation 2 game.
‘I hope this is for me and not you two bloodthirsty devils,’ he said jokingly.
‘It’s his,’ the two boys guiltily pointed to each other in unison.
He mischievously grinned at the boys as Cath returned to the living room.
‘Come on Tom, you shouldn’t be looking…what the hell are you doing you
snoop?’ She rushed forward and snatched the game from his hand. ‘Stop messing
about and go and get a shower.’ Her slim, tall frame pushed him onto the couch
playfully, and her large striking blue eyes bore into him; he tried to outstare her, but
as usual she won.
‘Alright man, I’m going,’ he moaned, pulling himself up and leaving the
room. She stared after him, shaking her head and running her fingers through her
thick and natural blonde hair. She turned her attention to ten-year-old Danny and
eight-year-old Peter and embraced her beloved sons.
The powerful hot jets of water invigorated Donohue, but the feeling of dread
never escaped him.
‘Happy Christmas cruel world,’ he rasped bitterly before rubbing his scalp
vigorously, thinking the shampoo would somehow dissolve his problems.
7 -- A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH
LOW FELL, TYNE &WEAR:
Donohue scanned the menu for the third time in as many minutes, not really taking in
the text. The restaurant wasn’t as empty as he’d hoped. Usually at this time on a
Saturday night, the typical tones of Middle-Eastern music from hidden speakers could
be heard. Instead, conversations filled the air along with the pleasant aromas of Indian
cuisine.
He glanced around again, observing the faces of strangers with blurred vision
caused by alcohol. No features were familiar so he turned back to the menu, but he
still couldn’t focus on the text or images.
‘Tommy, are you going to order something or what?’ He glanced at Cath with
confusion in his eyes.
‘What did you say?’

‘I said are you going to order something like…sometime this century.’ He
tossed the menu to one side.
‘I don’t want a starter; I fancy something hot like a Bangalore Chicken Phall.’
Cath rolled her eyes and snatched up the menu.
‘It says warning: extremely hot. Don’t you want to try a Vindaloo instead?’
He stroked his goatee pondering the question as the same waiter approached
their table a second time since they arrived.
‘I suppose a Vindaloo will suffice. The last time I had a Phall, I thought my
insides were melting.’ They handed the menus to the waiter when he took their order.
Donohue also ordered another bottle of Californian Chardonnay as well as his second
pint of Lager.
‘Tom, if you don’t slow down on the drink you won’t be fit to eat a meal.’
‘Do you mean to tell me you don’t want any more wine?’
‘Yes, but I’m taking my time with it. We’ve only been here twenty-
minutes and you seem intent on drinking the whole bloody bar dry…we haven’t even
finished the first bottle yet.’
He sighed and glanced over his shoulder as more diners entered the restaurant.
‘Jesus, where are all these people coming from?’
Cath noticed the redness of his eyes; they looked bleary and tired.
An attractive waitress approached their table with the main course. The spicy
dishes hissed and sizzled when she placed the stainless steel bowls between them.
Donohue put out his cigarette and downed the rest of his pint in one while Cath
looked on in annoyance.
‘You’re going to have to be carried home at this rate…take your time, it’s still
only early yet.’
‘God, I’ve only had two pints what’s the matter with you?’
She reluctantly spoke again; it was the inevitable question he’d been
dreading.
‘By the way, what happened with Frank Hackett this afternoon?’
‘Well in a nutshell he wants me to go to Amsterdam and pick up a package.
Anyway, I took you out to ask if you’d marry me, not talk about that shite.’
‘A package…what kind of package?’
He ate a forkful of chicken.
‘I haven’t got a clue; all I know is he wants me to fly to Amsterdam and pick it
up, and I’m not looking forward to it one little bit.’
‘Listen Tom, call me a cynic if you like, but I’ll tell you something now, I
know you’re not telling me everything…didn’t you even ask him what was in it? Do
you know how big it is? How do you know it’s not drugs? My bloody ex used to deal
smack for that mad bastard, and he started using it himself…why do you think I gave
him the boot?’
Donohue picked up a popadom and broke off a piece.
‘Do you really think I’m that bloody stupid? Of course I asked him what was
in it, but I didn’t want to keep banging on about it, because a psycho like Hackett
always has his own way on his own terms it’s that simple. You should know what
he’s like yourself seeing as your stupid ex used to work for him as you always
manage to point out…now can we just forget about this till later and finish this meal
please? I didn’t take you out tonight to discuss this. Even thinking about that mental
bastard makes my flesh crawl not to mention murders my appetite.’
He abruptly pushed his salad to one side, sending some of the vegetables
to the floor. He drained his pint glass and reached for a Marlboro. His mobile startled
him when it vibrated against his chest causing him to drop his lighter into the
remainder of his curry. He glanced at the display on his mobile phone, and cringed
when he read the message. I hope you remember tomorrow lover Xx. He suddenly
glared at Cath.
‘Can you please tell me what the problem is Cathleen? I have to go to Amsterdam
on Tuesday morning…I have to do this thing; it’s a matter of life and death so please
get used to it…Christ, you just don’t know how to listen do you?’
He raised his hands in defence expecting her harsh tongue to retaliate. She
didn’t speak, and he realised the expression of vexation on her face had remained the
same throughout his ranting. She shook her head slowly. Guests at nearby tables now
glanced curiously in their direction. Donohue stared back at the annoying, nosy
diners.
Cath glanced around embarrassed before she carried on with her meal still
shaking her head.
He cleaned the curry from his lighter and lit a cigarette and ordered another
pint of Lager when he caught the waiter’s attention.
‘Tom, a minute ago you asked me what my problem was, even though you’re
the one who seems to have the problem.’
He downed half of his drink when it arrived.
‘The only problem I have at the minute is this place; there’s too many idiots
making it look untidy, I mean for instance look at that him over there.’ He nodded
towards a young couple a few tables away.
‘What the hell is he wearing a baseball cap and a hooded top in a restaurant
for?’
‘Come on Tom man, he’s not hurting anybody.’
‘I don’t like baseball caps and hoodies.’ He downed the rest of his drink. Cath
cursed under her breath before taking a sip of her wine.
‘Listen Tom, you still haven’t told me why you can’t refuse this ridiculous
trip, and the longer you keep quiet about it the more suspicious I’m getting about it.
It’s not like Hackett’s your brother or anything…Christ, you’re not even friends so
what’s this hold he has on you?’
‘Did you hear what I said earlier or what Cath? I said I was going to ask you to
marry me tonight. Doesn’t that interest you even a little bit?’
She noticed how slurred his words were becoming.
‘Yes I know I heard you the first time, we can talk about that later; what I’m
interested in now is this business with bloody Amsterdam. You haven’t even told me
how long it is you’re going for yet. Is it for two days…two weeks…a year? We were
meant to get married six months ago, but we never got around to it did we? And why
was it past tense?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well Tom, you said: I was going to ask you to marry me.’
‘Well obviously we can’t get married now, not yet anyway with all
this crap going on…and it’s probably my fault as usual… I thought you didn’t want to
talk about it till later.’
‘Lately I can’t talk to you about anything. I mean God Tom, what’s happening
to us? In the four years we’ve been together, you’ve never been this distant. What the
hell’s got into you?’
Donohue sniggered without humour.
‘Damn you Tom, I’m trying to be serious and you’re just not listening to me.’
‘Well that’s where you’re wrong because I’ve heard every single word you’ve
said and guess what…it’s getting more monotonous by the minute. I just can’t seem
to crack a smile out of you these days. I’m the one who should be asking you what the
bloody problem is not the other way round. One minute you want to talk about that
mad bastard Hackett; then you want to talk about marriage. Can’t you make up your
mind or something? I tell you what, I’ll be six-feet under within two months of
marrying you…there’s no danger there. I repeat for the hundredth time, I owe Frank
Hackett a massive favour and that’s all there is to it. I’m going to Amsterdam on
Tuesday, and I’m coming back here by Friday if not before, now is that plain enough
for you?’
All eyes and ears had now fallen on the harsh exchange of words, which had
risen dramatically in volume.
‘I tell you what, you can do what the fucking hell you like, I just don’t give a
shit anymore, and you can bloody well stay in Amsterdam for all I care,’ she shouted.
He abruptly rose from his seat. He stumbled, knocking over the empty wine
bottle and his pint glass, which rolled from the table, smashing as it hit the floor.
‘I might just do that,’ he shouted back. They were both oblivious to the
stares of awe. He gripped the edge of the table leaning unsteadily, his eyes never
leaving hers.
‘Well this has turned out to be a great bloody night hasn’t it?’ he seethed.
‘You’ve got a short memory haven’t you Cathleen darling?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘You think I want to marry you after the affairs you had last year…which you
blamed me for?’
‘You bastard…how dare you.’ She picked up her wine glass and drenched him
with the remainder of the contents. The action brought the slanging-match to an
abrupt halt. He snatched a serviette from the table to wipe the wine from his face
before he stormed out into the night.
A petite, embarrassed waitress approached her table. When she spoke, Cath
looked up tearfully, unsure whether her voice was genuine or mocking.
‘Never mind love, I’ve worked here for nearly two years now and I’ve seen
my fair share of lovers tiffs, and most of them are far worse…mind you, it’s normally
the woman who walks out leaving the man to foot the bill…not the other way round.’
8 -- POOR BASTARD
CRUDDAS PARK, TYNE & WEAR. JANUARY 1984:
It was a cold morning as Donohue made his way towards The Hawthorns, his friend’s
high-rise flat. He blew warm breath on his hands and rubbed them together as though
it would make a difference. He put his hands back in his jacket pockets, but the action
seemed to worsen the coldness.
He shivered and stood watching the entrance for a moment, before sweeping
his gaze slowly upwards until his eyes focused on his friend’s flat on the fourteenth
floor – the top floor. He shuddered and closed his eyes. He was scared of heights and
lifts, but he knew he must be brave today.
‘I hope both the bastard lifts are out of order,’ he muttered as he made for the
entrance again.
The sound was deafening as the chest of drawers crashed to the ground inches
behind him. He spun round startled, staring in disbelief at the pile of broken wood and
unwanted clothes that now lay before him. A soiled pair of knickers had landed at his
feet; he kicked them away in disgust before he quickly gazed upwards again, hands
cupped over his eyes to counteract the winter sun. He could just make out the shape of
somebody leaning over the ninth-floor balcony.
‘Was that you, you fucking maniac?’ The figure disappeared from view.
To his surprise and dread, the lift he chose was in working order. As usual,
pools of urine and vomit covered most of the floor, and the stench made him gag.
When he reached the fourteenth floor, he rushed from the lift and shouted
through the letterbox. He heard a shuffling sound and knew he was being observed
through the spy hole.
‘It’s me, Tommy, come on, open the door.’ Bolts and countless locks were
released, and the door swung open to reveal a horribly scarred teenager wielding a
large kitchen knife. Donohue noticed the hostility in his eyes as he cautiously took
two steps backwards, holding up his hands.
‘It’s me, Tommy, can I come in or what? It’s freezing out here today.’
Bobby Smith stepped aside to let him pass and Donohue noticed the smell of
alcohol on his friend’s breath; he also noticed he’d lost even more weight since he’d
last seen him, which was about three months ago.
The stench in the flat was appalling, and the sight, which greeted him when he
entered the living room was frightful. Pizza boxes, take away cartons (most of which
contained mouldy remains), and empty beer cans adorned almost every available
space.
‘Jesus Bobby, what’s been happening in here? It’s worse than Steptoe and
Son’s place… come on, it won’t take long for us to clean it up.’
Donohue began gathering up the pizza boxes.

‘Do me a favour Bobby, go and get some bin liners for this rubbish…you do
have some bin liners I take it.’
Smith stood over him, his eyes fixed tightly on Donohue’s own gaze. His
vacant eyes seemed to stare straight through him.
‘What’s the problem, mate?’ Donohue asked as he slowly stood to face his
friend. Smith pointed the kitchen knife towards the TV. The image on the screen was
frozen, and it took Donohue a moment to realise that he was staring at a video, which
was paused on the top-loader VCR.
‘Do you remember this film, Tommy?’ Smith’s voice sounded short-tongued
and somewhat distorted. It made Donohue think of how a deaf person would speak.
Metal screws and plates, which reconstructed the left side of his face, restricted his
speech. His face was a mass of scars and extreme tissue damage.
Smith’s voice was louder this time.
‘Tommy man, I said do you remember this film?’ he cleared the coffee table
of curry cartons and empty beer cans with a swift swoop of his hand, searching for the
video box.
‘Erm…Bobby, it’s on top of the telly where you left it.’ Smith spun round and
grabbed the box clumsily.
‘Me, you and the lads used to watch all these films a few years ago,
remember? This bit you just can’t forget.’
He rewound the tape a few frames until he found a grizzly scene in which a
wheelchair-bound man is beheaded by a machete-wielding maniac. The volume was
unbearably loud.
‘Remember, it’s Don’t go in the woods...alone.’ Donohue pretended to think
hard about the film but Smith was right, they did all used to pile round his parents’
house when he was supposed to be babysitting. Every Friday they’d hire two or three
video nasties for the night, as well as a crate of beer. They’d watched so many
“campers in peril” type of film, that Donohue simply confused them all.
‘Did you know the body count in this film is fifteen? That’s quite a lot for a
film like this Tommy. I’ve got another film here somewhere called The Burning, do
you remember that one? It’s about the horribly mutilated caretaker taking revenge on
the campers that set him on fire. Tom Savini’s special effects are brilliant, especially
when the five kids get chopped up on the raft with a pair of shears. Steve Miner, the
director of Friday the 13th part two, wanted to hire Tom Savini, but he was busy
doing the effects for this.’
He rummaged around in front of the TV searching for another video; the
clanking of empty cans and plates mingled with the horrible synthesized music from
the movie began to irritate Donohue. Smith thrust another film inches from his face,
making him flinch.
‘Now here’s one from 1971, it probably started them all off. Bloodbath, AKA
Twitch of the death nerve. Did you know this film should be in the record books for
having the most titles ever? Four campers arrive at this bay, which relatives are in a
feud about; they’re dispatched one by one and…’
‘Listen Bobby, the reason why I’ve come round here today is well…you
better sit down for a minute because you probably won’t like this.’ Smith slumped
into his space on the end of the couch. ‘Come on then, what’s the news?’
Donohue’s eyes scanned the room briefly, looking for somewhere to sit, but he
decided to stand, as his jeans were clean on that morning. He ran his fingers through
his collar-length hair.
‘Well it’s Hackett, he’s been released.’

‘When was this then?’
‘Two days ago. He would’ve been out sooner, but he set his cell on fire and
attacked two screws.’
Smith hit the pause button on the VCR.
‘So that means it’s no longer safe to walk the streets again,’ he said
sarcastically. Donohue lit a cigarette and offered one to his friend, which he accepted
gratefully.
‘What about Mick and Mandy, do you think he’ll still be after them?’
‘The thing is Bobby, Mick and Mandy split up a few weeks ago. Didn’t you
know?’
‘I don’t know much about anything anymore; it was obvious he would be let
out sooner or later. What do you want me to do about it anyway? I tell you, if he ever
comes within two-feet of me, I’ll fucking kill the bastard. I never leave this flat
without a weapon, and I hardly ever leave this flat except to buy beer or hire videos.’
Donohue searched for an ashtray amongst a pile of pizza boxes they were
about to dispose of earlier. He decided to use one of the boxes instead.
‘I’m round here to give you an invite. Me, Mick, and a few of the lads are
having a party this Saturday at Billy’s, so you might as well come across, you’ll even
get a lift.’
‘I’ve just told you, I don’t leave this flat unless I really have to.’
‘Fucking hell Bobby, you can’t stay holed up in here for ever. Look at the
state of the place…it’s a mess…and it fucking stinks.’
Smith jumped to his feet. ‘Do you really expect me to go anywhere looking
like this?’ he shouted as he pointed to his own disfigured face.
‘Look at my hand man, there’s only two fingers and thumb left, I can barely
wipe my own arse. I mean look at me, I’m a fucking freak, all because of mad Frank
and his axe.’
‘Aw come on, you still need your friends around you. We’ve all missed you
since you’ve been in hospital, and if you decide to come on Saturday…well it’ll be a
good laugh, just like the old days.’
Smith slumped back onto the couch. When he looked up, Donohue thought he
could see a trace of mock-sympathy in his eyes. Smith got to his feet again, slower
this time. His voice was low and almost inaudible.
‘What’s left for me, I mean what am I supposed to do next? You know Tom; I
had big plans for myself when I was growing up. I remember from the age of about
seven I always wanted to be a boxer and batter all the bullies.’ His voice suddenly
became louder as he sat back down.
‘That was short-lived though, I got knocked out in my very first fight. Brilliant
eh? I tell you what, after that, my career direction changed course faster than it takes
to write a script for a fucking soap opera. I had so many grades. You know…I was on
my way to University to be a forensic scientist, but Hackett changed all that. So you
tell me, with a face like this, who the hell is going to treat me like a human being? I
mean what woman worth her salt will look at me when I can’t even look at myself?
And you’re talking about parties.’
Donohue gestured towards the TV.
‘Well isn’t it a little bit better than staying locked up in here and watching
frigging videos all the time? It would drive me insane.’
Smith omitted a strange laugh as he kicked the debris away before him.
‘Those horror films are all I’ve got left, don’t you understand? They
are my way of escaping everything that’s been thrown at me, and I’ll tell you
something else…they reckon next year, that bitch Mary Whitehouse might be banning
all these films because of the extreme violence…can you believe it? The government
are even thinking of locking video rental shop owners up, if they still rent them…can
you believe it? I mean what crime can be committed just by entertaining people with
fucking horror films?’
‘Look Bobby, when was the last time you had any visitors apart from me?’
‘I never get any visitors whatsoever.’
Donohue took one last drag on his cigarette before stubbing it out.
‘What about your parents, when did you last see them?’
‘I haven’t seen them for over a year; I don’t want to see them as far as that
goes anyway.’
‘Why not?’ Donohue asked exasperated.
‘Aw come on, what the hell’s the point? They’re crap parents; they always
blamed me for what happened, saying that I was in with the wrong crowd and because
I lived by the sword, that one day I would get my comeuppance. Well in a way they
were right, weren’t they?’
Donohue knew his friend’s face was an appalling mess, but he was more
concerned about the mess inside his head. He almost suggested counselling, but
stopped himself.
Smith broke the eerie silence that hung in the air.
‘Look mate, I’ve got quite a few films to get through today, I’m going to
watch Madman next so if you don’t mind I’d rather be on my own, unless you want to
join me that is.’
Donohue rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.
‘Don’t tell me, it’s about a group of teen campers who are brutally dispatched
one-by-one by a hideously disfigured maniac with a chainsaw.’
Smith shot him a serious, matter-of-fact glance.
‘Actually, it’s a group of camp counsellors who are brutally murdered one-by-
one…with an axe. Madman Marz, a crazy farmer kills his whole family, then goes on
the rampage on a campsite because one of the campers throws a rock through his
window. Don’t you remember the tag line: If you say his name above a whisper, he’ll
come for you. Pretty much like The Burning when you think about it…do you
remember the tag line in that: Don’t look he’ll See you. Don’t breathe he’ll hear you.
Don’t move you’re dead.’
Donohue made for the front door knowing that his friend was beyond all
possible help.
‘Where you going?’ Smith called after him as he stepped out onto the
landing.
‘Christ Bobby, what are you on about? You’ve just told me to leave, and that’s
exactly what I’m doing…leaving.’
Donohue was relieved when he called the lift. The door slid open; it hadn’t
been in use since he emerged from it thirty-minutes ago. He rushed into the lift and
paused before hitting the ground floor button.
‘Listen mate, if you change your mind about Saturday just let me know,
you’ve still got my number I take it.’ He pressed the button and the door slid shut; the
mechanics of the huge metal box clanked and creaked as it slowly descended.
‘Poor bastard,’ he whispered and slowly shook his head . It was the last time
he saw his pathetic friend for a while.

9 -- IT NEVER GETS ANY BETTER
WALKER, TYNE & WEAR:
‘This fucking weather is shite; it’s probably warmer in bastard Greenland,’
Detective Inspector Tony Johnson rasped to his colleague as he pulled his collar
tighter round his neck.
‘I know what you mean; I can think of better things to do on a Sunday
morning than skulking around in the freezing cold,’ replied his partner Detective
Sergeant Colin Davis.
The street was swarming with forensics, uniforms, plain clothes, and
ambulance crews. It was just after 9:00am and the door-to-door enquiries had so far
drawn a blank – there had been no witnesses.
A ten-foot tent had been erected to surround the scene.
Davis ran his fingers through his collar-length light brown hair. He was forty-
two, of medium build and had the appearance of a mild mannered civil servant.
‘So what do you think happened here then Tony?’
The DI faced him with a grimace.
‘How the fuck should I know I’m just an under-paid inspector, not a bloody
magician. You got here before me remember.’
He pulled out his pewter hip flask, which contained Bells Whisky. He took a
hefty shot before offering it to the DS, who declined as he glanced towards the murder
scene again shaking his head.
‘It never gets any easier does it?’
‘When you’ve been in the job as long as I have Col, you’ll soon get to know
about what’s easy and what’s hard. This is fuck all compared to what I’ve seen in the
past, and mark my words, I’ve witnessed every brutal crime ever committed in this
crappy city in recent years. What you mean is, it never gets any better and if I had my
way, I’d round up every scumbag arsehole in the land, burn the lot of them alive and
dump their ashes in the fucking Tyne.’
DI Tony Johnson was a big man, over six-feet tall, but he wasn’t stocky. His
menacing scowl and arrogance made most of his colleagues (even superiors alike)
reluctant to ask him questions unless absolutely necessary.
At forty-six, he seemed to have aged twenty-years in the last seven. Nothing
moved or fazed him anymore, not since the death of his son and daughter seven years
earlier. To him there could be no greater loss.
The only emotions to show on his face was anger, bitterness and sometimes
irritation. He was paid for solving crimes; it was his job, which he didn’t enjoy at all
but he didn’t know how to do anything else. He did have one major goal in life, and
that was revenge, no matter how long it would take. The trouble was, he didn’t have
much time left to achieve his goal. He’d received the bad news from the renal ward a
month ago.
When he made an appointment with his GP for a routine check-up for nagging
pains in his lower back, he thought nothing of it; he put it down to bad posture. He
even complained on more than one occasion about needing new office chairs. Not for
a minute did he think it as serious as having irreversible damage to both his kidneys
and liver caused by excessive alcohol abuse.
He didn’t even connect the back pains to the blurred vision, which annoyingly
impaired his sight from time-to-time. He knew one day soon (in the next six or seven
months) he would have no choice but to take out those bastards responsible for the
death of his children and the breakdown of his marriage. He knew there was no way
he could be gone forever while his adversaries still had the choice to live their lives to
the full undeservedly.
He didn’t have any friends or family. The people who did try to get close to
him always failed miserably. He did however occasionally seek solace via prostitutes
when he was at a low ebb, which was all the time these days. How he managed to
keep it incognito for so long he’d never know.
His work colleagues knew of his past tragedy. They also knew of his love for
alcohol, but he didn’t love alcohol, he needed it like a baby needs its mother’s milk.
These days he just couldn’t function without it.
His doctor warned him over a year ago that if he carried on drinking whisky as
though another prohibition era loomed ahead, he wouldn’t reach fifty. The doctor was
wrong – at this rate, he wouldn’t even reach forty-seven. So it seemed the only
options available to him was to stop drinking altogether, live longer or face the
inevitable consequences – but he knew which option he preferred.

He took another swig before he returned the hip flask back to the inside pocket
of his overcoat and approached the crime scene, rudely pushing through the cordon.
He crouched to get a closer look at the grisly sight, leaving a pale-looking Davis to
inspect the bare shrubs as if to appear busy. The squeamish prick doesn’t have the
gumption for a job like this, Johnson thought as he placed a cigarette between his lips
and discarded the cellophane wrapping from the newly opened pack.
‘Excuse me Sir, do you mind? In case you haven’t noticed this happens
to be a crime scene not a rubbish tip. Now just pick that litter up’ A cocky, irritated
female forensic assistant instructed abruptly. Johnson wasn’t impressed. He quickly
flashed his ID as he took the cigarette from between his lips.
‘Excuse me madam, I’m Detective Inspector Johnson, and in case you haven’t
noticed, I’m in charge of this bloody case.’
He snatched up the litter, tossing it to one side but the wind carried it back to
almost the exact spot where he’d dropped it in the first place.
‘Oh for Goodness sake man, can’t you be a bit more careful?’ the same
forensic said; her voice was louder this time, but the detective thought she looked and
sounded comical behind her mask. He opened his mouth to reply but instead, he
turned to see Davis at his side purposely staring in the opposite direction of the
battered corpse.
‘Col, who found the body?’
‘His wife found him; apparently she’s around somewhere suffering from total
shock.’
‘What the bloody hell do you mean apparently? Where the bloody hell is she
now?’
‘She’s still in the house last I heard.’

DI Johnson buried his face in his right hand, the unlit cigarette still wedged
between his fingers. He shook his head.
‘Do you mean to tell me that you haven’t even been in the house yet? Who’s
taking statements then?’
‘Well Tony, that’s supposed to be your job and you were late…again. Besides,
as I said, she’s in a state of shock…she can’t seem to say anything that makes much
sense. There’s a few in there now trying to ask questions, but like I said…’ his voice
trailed off.
Johnson’s bloodshot eyes never left his colleague’s as he spoke.
‘Are you telling me you’ve done absolutely fuck all since you got here except
mope around feeling sick? Where the hell is that prick Grice anyway?’
‘I think he mentioned something about going in the house to have a quick cup
of tea.’
Johnson shook his head again.
‘Jesus bloody Christ Almighty, he’s supposed to be a pathologist. Hasn’t he
even examined the body yet?’
‘I’m not quite sure to be honest. I’ve been trying to keep half the street away
from the bloody fence.’
Johnson raised his voice this time.
‘So what you’re saying is everybody’s been having a tea party in the home of
a murder victim while you’ve been out here in the freezing cold with your fingers up
your arse. I really can’t believe the incompetence of you lot sometimes.’ He took a
few more swigs from his hip flask.
‘Don’t be taking it out on me. You turn up half-an-hour late stinking of
booze and moaning about everything in sight; then you have the cheek to call
everybody else incompetent.
‘Listen Col, I’ve spent most of the night in that bastard off license trying to
find out who robbed it at gunpoint; and as I remember, you fucked off early because
your son had toothache…ring any bells? Anyway, I reckon the two incidents might be
connected so get off your high-horse and start doing your fucking job properly, or I
swear to God I’ll see to it that you’re transferred in less than a week.’
Davis didn’t bother arguing further, and he knew that Johnson didn’t have as
much clout as he’d like to make people believe – especially in his deteriorating
condition. He also knew his superior lacked the respect of most of the Force; so he
thought the same old threat was another feeble one.
Johnson’s arrogant and hostile reputation had spread wide and far. Almost
everybody on the force had heard the name at one time or another. He took no heed of
the strong advice he received from all directions about early retirement seven years
ago; by then the stubbornness had already set in. Nobody could persuade him no
matter what they said. The Force became more of a part of his life than he wanted.
He briskly made his way to the wide-open door at the side of the house. When
he reached the threshold, forty-nine-year-old Sam Grice appeared in the doorway
closely followed by the victim’s wife, accompanied by uniformed officers. The
blanket wrapped around her shoulders did little to hide her trembling. Her red-rimmed
eyes glared vacantly into space.
Johnson felt a sudden sense of relief, as he knew she was in no condition to
give a statement at this stage, and he just couldn’t be bothered – maybe later at the
station when he was feeling up to it.
‘Well what do you think happened then?’ The DI asked the pathologist.
‘Well from what we can gather, some psycho bludgeoned the poor bastard to
death for his car.’
‘What about witnesses?’
‘So far nothing from anybody. I’m not the one you should be asking. It’s this
lot who have the details.’
Grice jabbed a thumb in the direction of more officers coming from the house.
Johnson was persistent.
‘What about a weapon then? Surely you must have some idea.’
The pathologist took a deep breath and ran his hands through his thinning red
hair.
‘Well obviously it was some type of blunt instrument, possibly a hammer, or a
crowbar…something like that. You’ll have to wait for the autopsy report.’
Johnson grimaced in annoyance.
‘What about time of death, and when was he found?’
‘Time of death occurred somewhere between seven and eight last night.’
‘So why the hell wasn’t he found until this morning?’
This time Grice also grimaced in annoyance.
‘Look Tony, I’m not the detective you are. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got
my own job to be getting on with.’ Johnson put the unlit cigarette back into the pack,
realising that the chances of finding a light were slim. He’d have to wait until he got
back to his car. He turned to a young WPC.
‘Can you please tell me what kind of car he owned?’ He already knew what
the answer would be before he even finished the question.
‘It was a silver Vauxhall Astra, and it wasn’t even a new one.’
The DI turned to his colleague who was mesmerised by the congealed blood
on the driveway, which now sparkled with frost.

‘Did you hear that Col?’ The DS glanced up, not really looking at his superior.
‘Yeah, dreadful business isn’t it. They’ll pinch the shoes from your feet if you
stand still long enough round here’.
Johnson pulled out another cigarette. He toyed with it for a moment before putting
it back into the box.
‘Silver Astra,’ he said as he began walking towards the gate.
‘What about it?’
‘Well it just so happens that after you pissed off last night, a few witnesses
came forward and I got the same description from all of them. Three youths speeding
away from the off license in a silver Astra.’ He was about to continue when
something caught his attention.
‘Aw shit, that’s all I fucking need,’ he cursed as he noticed a TV crew
and journalists pulling up in the street.

10 -- THE CRIMINAL LADDER
ELSWICK, TYNE & WEAR:
Mickey “The Hands” Bennett and his two associates made their way through crowds
towards a wide staircase. He thought the awful music was excruciatingly loud as he
began to climb a few stairs. He paused and turned round. The place was buzzing
considering the early hour of 7:00pm on a Sunday. He didn’t know why the place was
called Frank’s Palace – it was a dump.
‘No wonder some people drop dead under the influence of ecstasy; it’s not the
pills, it’s the fucking coma inducing shite they listen to,’ he shouted over the noise.
He didn’t know whether his companions heard him or not and he didn’t really
care.
He wasn’t a big man in terms of bulk; he was a tall man at well over six foot.
His unusually long limbs gave him the appearance of a giant arachnid. His constant
frown had created a network of lines on his forehead making him look older than his
thirty-seven years. His long, straight dark hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.
Everybody in underworld circles knew his name and of his fearsome
reputation. His hands were his weapons when a blade or gun wasn’t within reach. The
incident when he used an electric carving knife to saw off a rival’s hands and feet
because of a long forgotten altercation was legendary.
He was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks by two massive suited guards
outside the office door. The larger of the two suited men spoke with a thick Northern
Irish accent.
‘Nothing personal lads, but you know what my boss is like…Christ sometimes
he even has us searched when we’ve only been to the bog.’
‘I’ve known Frank a hell of a lot longer than you mate, and I even went to
the same school as that fucking arsehole,’ Bennett replied indignantly as he raised his
arms high above his head anticipating the search. The Irishman glanced at his
associate worriedly before quickly frisking all three in turn. Bennett spoke again; he
spat the words out defiantly.
‘You know there’s been one thing that’s always made me wonder; and that’s
why everybody’s so shit scared of him…he’s…nothing.’
He hastily pushed past when the process was complete. He opened the office
door without knocking, leaving his companions in the corridor. That’s the way
meetings between these two usually took place…both alone in an office, but this time
they weren’t alone. Two unrecognisable lethal looking men stood at opposite sides of
the room adorned in expensive suits. Hackett sat behind his desk leaning back in his
chair, hands clasped behind his head. He seemed to be squinting intently at something
on his desk and it took Bennett a moment to realise that it was images on his
computer screen. He cleared his throat to make his presence noticed. Hackett glanced
in his direction.
‘Wha-hey, Mickey my old son, how you doing? It’s been a long time. Sit
down. What do want to drink?’
‘You know as well as I do this isn’t a social call Hackett, so why don’t you do
us both a favour and cut the bullshit?’
Hackett poured himself a measure of whisky before reaching for a King
Edward cigar.
‘Dear oh dear. I see you still haven’t learned any manners or researched the
meaning of respect of late. What the fuck’s the matter with you man? I’m trying to be
hospitable, so the least you can do is show me some respect.’
‘Listen to me Hackett, you know exactly why I’m here and you must have the
brain the size of an atom to even dream about me having a drink with you.’
Hackett rose from his chair. He gazed out of his office window not really
noticing the outside world. He lit his cigar before speaking in a quiet but audible
voice.
‘You know Mickey; the most important commodity in life is respect, and you
have to earn it. It’s not something that gets handed to you on a plate. The only reason
why I’m where I am today is because I’m a well respected figure…’
Bennett slumped into the chair. He shook his head and lit a Lambert & Butler.
He blew out a long stream of smoke.
‘Change the record Hackett, I’ve heard all this shite before and it means fuck
all to me. The reason why I’m here is to tell you that the East End is out of bounds to
your yobs…I run Byker not you. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t peddle any more
smack, crack, dope, pills or whatever in any of my pubs. I have my own dealers in my
area and lately I’ve lost a lot of business because of your goons undercutting people
who work for me. You stick to your own patch in the West End and everybody will
live happily ever after. I’ve even heard rumours about a little protection racket you’ve
got going on my turf and it’s got to stop.’
Hackett stroked the scar on his face; he sounded more confused than annoyed.
The other two men in the room didn’t flinch.
‘Listen Mickey, we’re both businessmen and we’re both after the same things
in life…money and respect, and at the end of the day I’m just trying to make a living
like everybody else…’
‘Well that’s where you’re wrong because I don’t give a fuck about respect, I
just want a quiet life, and you’re not making it very fucking easy lately. The problem
is you’re getting more and more greedy and one day you’ll end up overstepping the
mark, and I’m not putting up with it anymore.’
Hackett abruptly sat in his chair, and downed his drink in one before pouring
another. His voice did sound annoyed this time.
‘You know you should hear yourself, you haven’t changed a single bit have
you? My mistake I’m actually exaggerating…you’ve become even more arrogant
lately. The sound of my piss going down the bog first thing in the morning sounds
better than your fucking voice. You arrange to meet me in one of my pubs…my patch,
and you think you can start barking orders and throwing your weight around. You’ve
got some balls Mickey old son, I’ll give you that.’
‘Frank, this isn’t personal but like I said I’m losing money, and I’m starting to
look like some idiot with a paper arse…can’t you understand that?’
Hackett contemplated his cigar for a moment.

‘Well you know Mickey old son, it’s one hell of a crazy city we’re living in;
it’s dog eat dog out there and you have to grab every opportunity that comes along.
Don’t you forget that I’ve been around longer than you and I can take over any time I
like. Can’t you understand that? My family and men outnumber yours about ten-to-
one.’
Bennett stubbed out his cigarette and reached for another. He was about to say
something when Hackett’s mobile rang. His fingers drummed on the desk while he
waited for the brief conversation to end. After about thirty-seconds, Hackett put his
phone back in his pocket.
‘Look Frank, I remember a long time ago when you said to me there’s enough
business to go round. Enough business…for everybody, but you were wrong…there’s
new kids on the block these days. It’s like every time I turn around there’s more
arseholes muscling in on my patch…and they’re getting younger and more reckless.
Most of them are employed by you and there’s no denying it. Don’t you think you’re
taking bigger risks these days? They’re not exactly fucking discreet are they? I mean
most of them might as well go around wearing placards with the words “psycho drug
pusher” written in bold lettering. Don’t you understand what I’m saying? I have
enough problems in the East End without being pushed out of business. You know
I’ve lost about fifteen per-cent profit in the last six months, all because of your greed
and ambition.’
Hackett balanced his cigar on the edge of the ashtray. He turned to his
computer and pushed the pause button on the control pad. He began tapping the
buttons vigorously; sounds of gunfire and screeching tyres became audible. Bennett
was astonished to learn that Hackett must have been playing a computer game when
he entered his office.

‘Fucking hell Frank, have you heard a single word I’ve said? I came here to
talk business and all you can do is play games on your fucking computer.’
Hackett omitted a triumphant cry before he paused the game again. He picked
up his cigar and took a long drag. His next words came out in thick clouds of smoke.
‘Well I’m really pleased about that. Do you know I’ve been chasing the same
bastard around on a motorbike for the last few days? I was beginning to think I’d
never catch the stupid little prick.’
He leaned forward and spoke quieter.
‘Do you know what this game’s called Mickey?’
Bennett sighed, shaking his head slowly; he knew another pointless lecture
was in the midst.
‘It’s called Grand Theft Auto, Vice City. Now as a general rule, I don’t like
computer games; I never even play them because I think most of them are shite. This
one’s different though, because it’s not your conventional hero saves the world in
some far away stupid fucking future type of game if you know what I mean.’
‘Well all I can say is that you obviously don’t know much about computer
games if you think that’s what they’re all about Frank.’
Hackett slowly rose from his seat.
‘It’s different because it’s about a character…a small time crook who climbs
the criminal ladder till he owns the whole city. He reminds me of myself in many
ways. I mean I started small and worked my way to the top. I earned honour and
respect not by sitting on my arse and giving in all the time, but by standing up and
saying no.’
Bennett stubbed out his cigarette.
‘Well that’s funny isn’t it Frank because that’s exactly what I’ve come here
for today, so you’ve shot yourself in the fucking foot now haven’t you.’ He rose from
his seat and made for the door. Before he opened it, Hackett’s aggressive voice
stopped him.
‘If you’ve come here to start a war, just remember one thing you lanky
fucking weasel…we would absolutely destroy you in a war…Do you understand
that?’
Bennett slowly turned round; he glared at Hackett unflinchingly.
‘And you remember one thing Hackett…never underestimate me.’
He slammed the door behind him leaving Hackett to stand with his mouth
wide open. In a rage, he hurled his chair across the office; it crashed into the door.
Spittle sprayed from his lips as he spoke.
‘That fucking disrespectful prick…he’s got some fucking nerve.’ One of his
henchmen looked sympathetic.
‘Shall I bring him back Frank?’
‘I’ll sort him out later. I’ve got a few more important things to deal with now.
As you both know I’m going to Las Vegas on a business trip on Saturday, but that
cunt will suffer big style I can promise you that…how dare he come to my manor and
insult me.’
‘But Frank, I thought if you had a criminal record you wouldn’t be allowed in
the States without a visa,’ one of the men asked.
‘Don’t worry, I have ways and means as you should know by now.’
He retrieved his chair and carried on with the game.

11 -- DEAD IN THE WATER
WHICKHAM, TYNE & WEAR:
Donohue scanned the lounge area of the pub when he entered. He spotted the person
he sought sat in the far corner by the fireplace and quickly ordered himself a pint of
Pepsi.
Cath wasn’t speaking to him. He didn’t have to tell her where he was going or
how long he would be, and she didn’t much care after his performance in the
restaurant the previous night. He picked up his drink and joined his guest. She looked
understandably irritated because he was twenty-minutes late.
‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been sitting here waiting like an idiot
since half-seven,’ she said angrily.

Dawn Howarth was in her mid-thirties. She had a short petite figure, which
Donohue had found irresistible since the day he met her over three years ago. Her
short dark straight hair cut into a bob, framed her attractive face perfectly. Tonight her
large brown eyes didn’t mesmerise him as they usually did; they worried him.
‘I’m sorry babes; the traffic was horrendous. I can’t think where everybody’s
going on a freezing Sunday night. Why the hell aren’t they at home in front of the
telly watching Emmerdale or doing something equally bloody mundane?’
‘Oh, do you mean like we are for instance? There’s a film on tonight I’ve been
waiting bloody ages to see and instead, I’m hiding in some country pub in the middle
of bloody nowhere.’
She took a sip of her orange juice and lit a cigarette. She offered the box to
him; he took one and she noticed his hands were shaking. She also noticed his pale,
drawn complexion.
‘Are you all right? You look as though you’ve just come back to life and
discharged yourself from the bloody morgue.’
He stared into the nearby log fire as though puzzled by the flames.
‘Tommy what’s wrong? The concern in her voice brought him to his senses.
‘For God’s sake Dawn, what the hell do you think?’
He suddenly left the table and hurried to the bar leaving her to stare after him
in frustration. His unpredictable actions still surprised her even after all this time, but
tonight he was different. He had a look of fear in his eyes, which she’d never seen
before. He normally had a constant smile and brilliant sense of humour. The last time
they’d spoken on the phone, he sounded edgy as if somebody was looking over his
shoulder, and she’d put it down to the unfortunate situation they were both in. She
hoped to God that Cath hadn’t found out. The thought made her shudder.
He returned moments later and took another one of her cigarettes without
asking. He raised his drink to his lips but promptly changed his mind.
‘I’ve ordered a cheese and ham toastie even though I’m not even hungry, but I
know I’ll have to have something. I haven’t eaten properly since the meal last night...I
threw up when I got home.
‘Right Tom, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind? You look dreadful
and you’re acting weird.’ He stroked his goatee, staring into the fire once more as if
searching for a suitable answer.
‘Tom what’s wrong?’ She persisted placing her hand on his shoulder.
‘Don’t you bloody start, I’ve had the same shit from Cath for the last two
days; she’s been driving me mad. Look I had too much to drink last night, and I’ve
got a few worries on my mind…not to mention being worried sick about you and the
problem you…we might have. Look, if you are expecting I would never desert you,
and I don’t care about anybody else…I’ll stick by you no matter what…Christ, Do
you think I’ll make a good dad? I’ve never really thought about being a parent
before…I mean I try my best with Cath’s kids and I love them to bits but…’
He buried his head in his hands. When he eventually faced her, she was
grinning.
‘I don’t know what you find so amusing, why don’t you share the joke with
me. I could do with a good laugh right about now.’
She took another sip of her drink.
‘Well guess what? I’ve got some news that’ll definitely cheer you up…I’m not
pregnant after all,’
His expression changed instantly.
‘When did you find out?’

‘This morning I had my period.’ He leaned back on his stool, but forgot there
was no backrest, and crashed to the floor almost taking the contents of the table with
him.
‘God Almighty, I can’t believe it…I just can’t believe it.’
She quickly helped him to his feet and they hugged for a long moment, ignoring the
curious eyes of publicans upon them. They both sat back down shaking their heads
with relief. The removal of one of the two knives from his back made him feel a bit
better about himself already. One down one to go, he thought dryly.
‘You’re telling me that you’ve known about this since this morning and
you didn’t bother to let me know until now? So I drove all the way over here tonight
for nowt…why didn’t you text me or something man?’
‘I wanted to surprise you in person; there’s nothing wrong with that is there?’
‘Well I must say I’m more relieved than surprised, even though I wouldn’t
mind being a dad one day. Anyway, was it hard to get out tonight?’
‘You’d better believe it,’ she replied still grinning.
Suddenly a slim, attractive barmaid in her forties brought his toastie to the
table.
‘Hi Tom, how’s business these days?’ She asked.
‘It’s not too bad, how you doing Paula?’
‘Well you know how it is Tom; I’m rushed off my bloody feet as usual.
Anyway, enjoy your sandwich.’ She smiled at Dawn before she left the table.
‘Let’s see how much of this I can manage,’ he said as he stared at the snack in
front of him.
‘I should’ve asked if you wanted anything. Do you want another drink or
something?’
‘No I’m fine for now; I’ve got to get back soon anyway, otherwise he will start
to get suspicious. Have you any idea how hard it was coming here tonight? I had to
pretend I was going to Brenda’s for a couple of hours…again. I’ve squared it with
her and she’ll cover for me just in case he calls her, but knowing what he’s like these
days I wouldn’t be surprised if he either turns up at her place or he’s followed me. He
could be out there now, watching and waiting.’
‘Is he really that bad?’
‘Yes he really is that bad and he’s getting worse. Ever since he was thrown out
of the Army, he’s become more and more possessive as if I’m the only thing left in
his life. He hates his job with a passion and he takes most of his frustration out on me
and the dog. I tell you what Tom, I’m glad he works nights as a poxy security guard.
If he had a regular nine-to-five day job…well I dread to think what it would be like.
At least I don’t see that much of him, which is a bloody Godsend to say the least.’
‘Why the bloody hell do you stay with him then? Why don’t you just pack
your stuff and get out before he does get any worse? It’s no life for you or any other
woman.’
She lit another cigarette.
‘Sometimes I wish I could just leave but it’s not as easy as you think.’
‘I know Dawn, but there must be something you can do…listen I’m off to the
bar for one more drink; are you sure I can’t get you anything?’
‘No I’ve already told you I’m all right.’
He quickly left the table. He decided to relieve himself en route.
The pristine toilets made his appear disgraceful by comparison. He wished his
own pub was as classy as this one. He could hardly complain at the time he purchased
the premises; the price was right and business was booming enough back then for him
to buy a decent car and a nice house.
He’d also thought he’d found his perfect soul mate in Cath. On the other hand,
he thought exactly the same thing about Dawn. He didn’t know whether he loved
one or the other, or both of them; he didn’t even know what love meant.
He dreaded this moment for two reasons: If she was pregnant, they couldn’t go
through an abortion together – he’d never forgive himself, and neither of them
would want to go through with it anyway. They’d both resort to emotional time
bombs.
If she wasn’t pregnant then he’d have to end the affair before another
suspected mishap like this occurs. He suddenly wondered about parenthood and being
a Father to his own child – he liked the idea.
The realisation hit home hard…he didn’t know how he felt about her. He
didn’t even know how he felt about Cath. The sex was fantastic with Dawn; she’d do
things Cath wouldn’t even dream of. He was confused.
He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his hair, which he’d decided to tie
back tonight, but Dawn always preferred his hair loose around his shoulders. The way
she entwined her fingers round it when they…the image dissolved when he heard the
sound of an approaching publican’s footsteps on the outer tiled floor.
He nodded a greeting to the middle-aged man holding the door open for him
before heading for the bar.
A double whisky beckoned but he decided on another soft drink. He hurried
back to his table, and noticed how worried his girlfriend looked – she was already
putting on her coat.
‘Listen Tom, time’s getting on and I said I’d be back by about half-nine to
please that arsehole because his next shift is Tuesday night. He thinks I should be in
the house getting pissed with him while he tells me the same old Army stories I’ve
heard a thousand times before.’
They stepped into the freezing wind.
‘I suppose we’ve got time for a chat though. Your car or mine?’ She asked
playfully as they both pulled their collars up and hurried towards his Lexus. The
choice was always simple – he had the better car. She drove a ten-year-old battered
pale blue Ford Fiesta, which she’d bought from the Auto trader a week after she’d
past her driving test. He always teased her about how most people in the 1990’s
always chose their first car in the shape of a Ford Fiesta or Nissan Micra – and the
colour always had to be blue, the norm seemed pointless now. He knew he had to
finish with Dawn tonight.
The heat inside the car from earlier was swapped for an unwelcoming
coldness. They closed the doors and Donohue spoke first.
‘Look…there’s no easy way of saying this so I might as well come straight out
with it. I think it’s best for everybody if we just call it a day because this affair will
only end up dead in the water anyway.’
Her mouth dropped open before she slowly faced him. She was speechless for
a time, until her voice took on a high-pitched wail.
‘What the hell are you talking about? Where’s this crap coming from? You
can’t dump me after eight bloody months because you’ve had your fun…I don’t
believe I’m hearing this; after all we’ve been through and all the things you’ve told
me in the past…what the hell am I supposed to do now?’
He held his head in his hands for a moment before he looked into her tearful
eyes.
‘Just calm down will you; I’m only trying to be honest with you. What are we
meant to do, just carry on the way we have been as if nothing’s happened? Look
Dawn, I…have feelings for you…can’t we go back to being friends at least?’ He
cringed, regretting his last words.
‘So what would you have done if I was pregnant then Tom?’ She asked
quietly, staring straight ahead through the windscreen.
‘Well to be perfectly honest with you I haven’t got the slightest idea, but can’t
you see my point? That’s exactly what I’m talking about; we would’ve both been in
the shit if you were pregnant. Do you really want to go through that hell again? If you
ask me, I think we’ve had a narrow escape by all accounts.’
‘So this is finally it then is it? I get to go home to a life of misery and you get
to go home and play happy families…what a happy ending it’s turned out to be…not
for me though.’ She was sobbing as she wrenched the door open.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked worriedly.
‘I’ve got to go because if I have to listen to any more of your bullshit I will
definitely be late…and we can’t have you telling your precious Cath more lies can
we?’
Never again, he thought, as she started the Fiesta and sped out of the car park,
tyres screeched on the tarmac as she narrowly missed other parked cars.
He breathed a sigh of relief, but he also felt pangs of guilt and…regret. He
leant his head on the steering wheel for a while before starting the car. He sat
wondering whether he should return to the pub for an alcoholic drink, but quickly
dismissed the idea knowing that it wouldn’t solve anything. His eyes also brimmed
with tears.
The best thing he could do now was go home and face the music. He had a lot
of making up to do with Cath.
12 -- FRIENDS AND FAMILY
CRUDDAS PARK, TYNE & WEAR. JULY 1984:
Bobby Smith couldn’t believe what he was reading, and he had to read the article
countless times before the words eventually sank in.
‘Well they’ve finally gone ahead and done it the bastards… the fucking stupid
ignorant bastards,’ he seethed to himself as he read the article again.
He took another swig of cider from the bottle of Strongbow before he hurled it
across the living room. It shattered against the wall. He knew the time would
eventually come when the video nasty frenzy, (which had swept the country in recent
years) would be brought to a halt much to his dismay. Police had seized thousands of
films across the country. Anybody who still stocked uncertificated horror films faced
prosecution by the Director of Public Prosecutions. Countless titles had been banned
virtually overnight. Many of which he still wanted to see.
On July 1 1983, The Daily Mail launched its “Ban the Sadist Videos”
campaign and the result was an eventual success. Supplying, offering to supply or
even possessing an uncertificated video led to a twenty-thousand pound fine. He
glanced at some of the titles again. Some of them he’d viewed already: Absurd; Axe;
Evilspeak; Nightmares in a Damaged Brain; Cannibal Holocaust; Driller Killer; The
Last House On The Left; Zombie Flesheaters; Island of Death; The Bogey Man; The
Burning; Maniac; Demented; Unhinged…the list was endless.
He headed towards the window; wading through rotten, stinking refuse,
mumbling incoherently to himself.
‘These fucking Tory do-gooders don’t have a clue what they’re talking
about. They think if you watch horror films, you end up turning into a psychopath…
fuck me, how do they even know what they’re like? They haven’t seen half of them.
Mary Whitehouse, Leon Britton and, Graham Bright…If I had my way they would be
tortured to death and buried under the fucking sea. William Whitelaw seems to be the
only one with any sense, but that fat bastard Britton replaced him.’
In a sudden rage, he upturned the nearest wrecked armchair; it crashed heavily
onto its back
‘So video nasties turn people into fucking murderers do they? Well all right
then you brainless fucking arseholes, I might as well live up to the myth, and guess
fucking what, I look just like a killer from a horror film anyway. I wonder who I’ll
be…Cropsy from The Burning, or Marz from Madman, or maybe even Jason from
Friday 13th. Wait a minute, I could even be Frank Zito from Maniac and go around
scalping my victims…shit. I don’t have any mannequins like he does in the film
though.’
He suddenly let out an eerie high-pitched laugh, which reverberated around
the room with such clarity that he startled even himself.
He stumbled over rubbish to reach the large window once again and stared
down at the distant comings and goings over a hundred-feet below, realising he could
never again be a part of normal society. He didn’t want to be – to him there wasn’t
any normality left.
He noticed a fight had broken out outside the local rough pub. It
probably started inside and spilled out; he’d witnessed the same commotion time and
again – mostly on weekends.
‘Cunts the fucking lot of you, you should all be tortured to death,’ he muttered
under his breath.
He quickly turned and made his way towards the television. He knelt in front
of it, staring at the blank screen for a moment before wrenching the VCR from its
position. He got to his feet, still holding the VCR in front of him and staring at it
tearfully, speaking to it soothingly but regretfully as though it was a terminal pet on
its final trip to the vets.
‘I’m very sorry my faithful friend but I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you
go. You see, I no longer have any use for you; you’ve become obsolete in this
household. You’ve served me well over time but now it’s time we parted and went
our separate ways.’
He lifted it high above his head steadying himself like a weightlifter, then with
a mighty crash, he brought it down on top of the television. He let out a long drawn-
out scream as if in extreme pain. His best friend was dead. He began shouting
obscenities as he left the living room heading towards the hallway cupboard. His
collection of tools lay untidily strewn on a foot-wide shelf. He selected a heavy
monkey wrench; picking it up proved difficult even though he’d had four-years to
practise using only his forefinger, index finger and thumb. Once it was in his grip, the
action became easier.
As he crossed the hall, loud banging on the front door, followed by a taunting
voice made him pause curiously.
‘Keep the noise down you fucking freak or I’ll put you out of your misery
for good…can you hear me you ugly fucking cunt?’
Of the six flats on this floor, only two were occupied. The other four having
been boarded up long since. He recognised the voice as belonging to the only other
tenant on the fourteenth floor. She lived in the flat opposite and he hated the woman.
Whenever he’d be brave enough to venture out for supplies, (which was quite seldom)
she’d open her door and stand glaring with an intense hatred in her eyes, hatred for no
reason, but it invented his hatred for her. Sometimes she had the courage (usually
after she’d consumed six or seven cans of Carlsberg Special Brew) to hurl abusive
comments at him because of his appearance.
One day he’d found excrement smeared on his front door, which came from a
cat and he knew she owned a cat.
She shouted through the door again.
‘If you don’t fucking move out soon, I’ll bring some blokes round to get you
sorted out…I’ll get your fucking legs broken. Bastards like you shouldn’t even be
living here…you should be locked up in St Nicks you ugly fucking spastic.’
She began to kick the door like a mad woman.
‘You should be in a fucking circus you weird bastard.’
He crept to the front door and peered through the spy hole. He quickly but
quietly released the locks with his left hand, wrench gripped tightly in his semi-
disabled right hand. He waited a moment before swinging the door open; it crashed
into the wall. He swung the wrench and delivered a powerful blow to her left temple.
She swayed before staggering back, holding onto the doorframe until slumping to her
knees. She tried to grip the wooden communal bench before finally falling onto her
back to slip into unconsciousness. He quickly leant over her limp body, checked for a
pulse and hoped there was one; there’s no way he wanted her dead…yet.
He tossed the wrench into the hall before effortlessly dragging the body into
his flat by her ankles. He left her in the living room, ran down the hall and closed the
front door making sure all the locks were in place before leaning back against it. His
heart pounded in his chest like a steam hammer.
He squeezed his eyes tightly shut collecting his thoughts and catching his
Breath, barely able to believe what he’d just done. It had to be done though; to him it
was paramount.
His eyes snapped open and pierced the dark afternoon shadows that lurked in
the hall.
He rummaged through the selection of tools in the cupboard; erratically and
noisily scattering implements around the already untidy sparse space. His excitement
rose when he found what he was looking for.
The electrical cord was just long enough for the task he had in mind. He knew
one day it would come in handy and today was his turning point – he knew he must go
through with it.
With delight, he also selected a razor-sharp machete. He observed it,
mesmerised by its crude and dangerous design. His reflection in the cold steel
blade glared back at him with angry eyes intent on causing mayhem…how he wanted
to cause mayhem right now.
He raced into the living room with the items, suddenly remembering the
unconscious neighbour from hell – she needed to be still out cold for him to make the
job of tying her up easier. Another whack on the head with the wrench should do the
trick. Not too hard though, he needed her alive…for now.
He distortedly began to sing the last verse from It’s going to happen by The
Undertones – a hit they had in May 1981.
‘Everything goes when you’re dead
Everything empties from what was in your head…’
He paused when he heard and sensed his victim stir.
He leapt across the room and straddled her, his knees pressed into her wrists
with such force that he felt (and heard) a bone snap beneath the pressure. He was also
grateful for the way the pain in her eyes registered even in unconsciousness.
He raised the wrench high above his head with both hands anticipating the
moment of his first kill. He changed his mind though – he wanted to tell her a few
home truths first. He tossed the wrench aside.
His fists began an ongoing onslaught to her face for the next twenty-seconds
until there was no sign of life. He checked her pulse again. Thankfully, she was still
alive. She wasn’t an attractive woman; he guessed her age to be about thirty-five
to forty. There was no way of being too accurate – especially since her face was
battered and bloodied. It didn’t much matter now anyway; she’d already lived her
miserable life.
She was thin almost to the point of emaciation, probably from too much
alcohol and too little food. Her dirty blonde hair reached her shoulders in messy
straggles.
He climbed off her as he sang the rest of the song.
‘No point in waiting today
Stupid revenge is what’s making you stay…’
He turned her over onto her stomach, cut an appropriate length of cord with
the machete, and tied her hands behind her back. Then he bound her feet together.
‘It happens all the time
It’s going to happen, happen till you change your mind.’
He cleared the coffee table of rubbish before he bent her over the end of it. He
then wound the rest of the cord tightly around her torso; tying her to the table.
When he’d finished, he left the room to look for a gag. An old rolled up sock and
some tape should do the trick, he thought.
He returned moments later with the items just as she was beginning to stir
again. He quickly stuffed the sock into her mouth. She began to struggle feebly so
he punched her in the back of the head a few times; then grabbed her hair and
smashed her face onto the wooden surface twice. She became still again.
He was sure he must have broken her nose by now; his aching bloodied knuckles
reminded him of the several forceful blows he gave her earlier.
He decided to sit on the couch and relax for a while. After all, he could take
as much time as he liked, for he had plenty of it. His dope tin, which contained two
thirds of an ounce of cannabis resin and two ready-made joints, still lay on the arm of
the couch beside him. He put one of the joints between his lips, waiting a moment
before lighting it. He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling wondering what
her name was. He couldn’t remember and he didn’t care, but he went through the
motions anyway.
‘What the fuck are you called…is it Susan, Sandra or Sharon?’

He leaned forward lighting the joint as he observed his pathetic captive in
front of him.
‘Well it doesn’t really matter now does it? Look at the state of you…you’re
nothing. You’re as much use as a comatose murderer, and me…I used to be a nice
person believe it or not; I used to have friends…I used to have lots of…friends. I even
had a family…a close family, but that was ages ago. Now everywhere I look there’s
disgust in everybody’s eyes. There’s paranoia in my head every time I leave this
stinking flat to cash my giro and hire videos, but I won’t be doing that again by the
look of things. Not now the Tories have had their pound of flesh…the bastards.’
A shuffling sound followed by slight movement caught his attention. The
woman’s eyes now tried to focus on the strange surroundings; the weird situation,
until they focused on his cold eyes. She blinked hard attempting to dislodge the
congealing blood restricting her vision. Realisation mixed with fear suddenly
registered. Her expression made him feel elated. He knew he’d have to go through
with it. If he let her go now, he would probably receive a lengthier jail sentence than
the one he would receive afterwards – if he got caught that is, and he knew he would
be caught at some stage. Maybe when he was dead. He wanted to be known for
something important instead of being renowned for ugliness and deformity.
‘So you’re awake then you insulting little bitch?’ Her eyes widened with fear
as she recognised his face at last. His voice was unknown to her since he’d never
uttered a word in protest to her psychological abuse in the past.
When he raised the machete so high that it grazed the ceiling, her struggling
became more frantic than the last pathetic effort. He turned the blade around to use
the blunt side and struck the right side of her forehead leaving a two-inch long bloody
gash – she was out cold again. He took a long drag from the joint before stubbing it
out on the arm of the couch. He sat back down for a moment to observe his victim,
not comprehending the inevitable consequences – when he got caught.
‘I used to have loads of friends…loads of friends and family, and I’ll
tell you something else bitch…I don’t feel anything for anyone either. You shouldn’t
go through life causing people pain just because of what they look like and expect to
get away with it. You criticise me, but what makes your life so much better than
mine? I used to have loads of friends…good friends. Who’ve you got? The only
people I’ve seen go in and out of your place are violent drunken criminals; none of
which have a brain cell between them.’
He re-lit the rest of the joint, took a long drag and blew a stream of smoke in
her direction. He noticed that she’d regained consciousness again.
‘You know what they’re saying don’t you…that horror films turn people into
murderers. It’s political correctness gone to fucking hell that’s what it is. Guess
what…I’ve got a paradox of my own, it’s quite simple. I’m going to kill as many
people as I can to prove to those arseholes that horror films don’t invent murderers.’
He let out a shrill laugh before he finished the joint and stubbed it out under
his foot.
‘I don’t know why I’m even trying to talk to you…you really don’t have the
slightest fucking idea what I’m talking about do you? You probably don’t even know
how to use a video recorder let alone own one. You’ve probably sold most of your
stuff for beer anyway. I bet you haven’t even got a telly.’
The machete lay at his feet and he wondered whether it would be the right tool
for the job – it could prove too messy, but glancing around at the already abysmal
state of the place, he thought it amusingly ironic to worry about any more mess.
He quickly picked up the weapon with his right hand, examining it for a moment
before raising it inches above her neck, keeping it there until he was satisfied with the
angle at which he had to strike. Her struggling became fiercer so his left hand grabbed
her hair tightly, making sure that her neck was bare in order to make the job easier.
Her muffled shrieks now reached hysterical proportions. She tried to shake her head
but his grip was too strong to allow her even the slightest movement.
He raised the machete high above his head; it hovered in the air for endless
seconds before he brought the huge sharp blade down hard and swift. It struck her
right shoulder embedding itself in flesh and bone. He wrenched it free, noticing the
scraping sound it made. He cursed inwardly for missing his target. He tried again,
ignoring her screams of agony and terror, which had become frighteningly loud and
desperate despite the gag. This time the blade struck the back of her neck diagonally,
severing her spinal cord and slicing halfway through her carotid artery. The fountain
of blood was phenomenal; it resembled a crimson geyser as it splashed onto the wall
above the fireplace.
The sounds of her worst fear and pain imaginable were now reduced to a low
choking sound. He struck again; more blood splashed soaking him. He couldn’t
believe how long it actually took to behead somebody – it wasn’t like this in films.
Usually one swift swing of the axe was all that was needed on the screen. He could
think of only two films in which the severing of the head took more than one fell-
swoop. Conan the Barbarian immediately sprung to mind, when Arnold
Schwarzenegger’s beheading of the baddie in the closing scene took a few swings of
his sword to achieve the result. The bloodbath towards the end of Nightmares in a
Damaged Brain also sees a victim receive two chops from the woodman’s axe before
her head flies from her neck.
He realised she must be on the very verge of death by now. He brought the
machete down again, still with no success so he decided to use a sawing action to
finish the grisly deed, cutting through tubes and sinews.
He held up his dripping trophy and stared into the eyes. He was sure he saw
the terror-stricken orbs flicker. Suddenly he remembered something he’d learned
years ago in a science lesson. People didn’t always die instantly when decapitated –
the brain normally stays alive for a few moments afterwards. There couldn’t be a
more awful end to a life than staring down at your headless corpse thinking: this is it,
I’m dead.
The amount of blood that covered the room was unbelievable; liquid crimson
also saturated him from head to toe. The coppery stench permeated the already rancid
air. The bloody machete fell from his grip, landing on the floor with a dull thud. He
wiped the blood from his watch and noticed the time was 8:40pm.
‘Jesus, I thought it was only late afternoon; where the fuck has the time gone?’
Glancing down at his grisly handiwork answered his stupid question.
He picked up the machete and began to cut the cord before pulling off her
bloodied clothes; he then carried her into the bathroom to perform the necessary
task of dismembering the rest of the body.
He dropped her into the bathtub and rushed into the kitchen to select the
various knives he would need. He was grateful he still had almost a full roll of refuse
sacks, but finding a place for disposal would prove the most difficult; he would have
to wait until long after darkness had fallen – it was going to be a long, gruelling night
laden with exhaustive and bloody toil.

13 -- DAHDAH IS DEATH
‘How much longer are you going to keep this crap up?’ Cath asked as she
snatched the joint from the ashtray.
‘You’ve hardly said a word since you got in and don’t you think you’re a bit
too old to be sulking like a big kid? Remember you’re the one who pissed off and left
me in the Indians last night but the way you’re bloody acting, you’d think it was the
other way round.’
Donohue got to his feet and poured himself a Jameson. He promised himself
that he wouldn’t have anything to drink when he got home from the pub, but
Tuesday was only two days away and he needed something to help him forget.
‘Cath, I’ve said I’m sorry till I’m every colour in the face, what more do you
want me to do? This thing with Amsterdam has constantly been on my mind since
yesterday afternoon. Can’t you understand why I haven’t been myself lately? I tell
you what; if I had enough money I’d emigrate to Portugal right now without a second
thought…even though I’m shit scared of flying.’
Cath suddenly laughed loudly and he wasn’t sure if she was making fun of
him or merely trying to smooth over the jagged atmosphere that hung in the air.
‘You never told me you were scared of flying; you learn something new every
day I suppose.’ She laughed again as he sat back down with his drink.
‘It’s not funny; we all have phobias you know.’ A smile creased his lips.
‘That’s more like it; it’s the first time I’ve seen you smile in two days and it’s
the first time you’ve uttered anything for hours.’
He opened the bag of skunk in front of him and made the second joint of the
night; then stuffed the bag in the coffee table drawer.
‘Well I haven’t exactly had that much to laugh about lately have I? That
bastard Hackett has to spoil everybody’s peace and quiet. God I hate him for coming
between us. Listen Cath, I’m really sorry for the way I’ve behaved lately. I know I’ve
been a complete bastard but I’ll make it up to you, I promise. In fact, when I come
back from this…trip, and we get Christmas out of the way, why don’t you, me
and the kids go away somewhere for a week?’
‘Where do you have in mind? I thought you were scared of flying.’
‘Well I was thinking maybe somewhere on the coast or something.’
‘In this weather, are you mad? It’s winter in case you’ve forgotten.’ Donohue
stroked his goatee as if in deep thought.
‘Shit I never thought of that. Maybe summer then, after a few more rows.’
They both laughed heartily as the tension of the last two days finally dissolved.
‘What’s so special about Portugal anyway?’ She asked.
‘I love the place. I went there when I was twelve. In fact, that’s the first time
I’ve ever been abroad. Cath it’s the most amazing place; my dream has always been to
live over there no matter what. When I was in sunny Portugal I used to view the
sunset from the balcony every night, I thought it was a wondrous sight. The highlight
of the day you know, was to rush to the balcony straight after my tea…I had to see the
sunset…I had to see it. It was like a kind of ritual…something I just had to do. Every
time I did it though…I knew there was a reason for it. I knew I couldn’t be in a
brilliant hassle-free country without paying some kind of price…Cath sat next to him
on the couch and they threw their arms around each other.
‘How long were you there for?’
‘My step dad died and left a shit load of money because the stingy twat owned
a chain of hardware shops around the city. Anyway, Cyril was his name and he was a
complete bastard, but at least we got a villa out of it.’
‘How did he die, and how much money did he leave behind? It must’ve been
thousands to afford a villa in Portugal and what about me and the boys? Don’t you
care about me and my boys? You might want to live abroad Tom, but I’m afraid we
won’t be joining you unless there’s enough money to live on without any worries.
What’s the point? You might as well stay in England and get soaked by the rain
nearly every day than try and live in another country, sorting out new schools and all
that kind of rubbish…’
‘Calm down, I didn’t say I was emigrating, I’d have to win the lottery first.
Christ Cath, I’m not exactly rolling in cash at the moment am I? Anyway, he drowned
on a fishing trip and I can’t say I was sorry. Me and my mother were glad…at least
we got a few quid at the end of it. It didn’t last though.’

‘So how much money did he leave?
‘Only about seventy thousand or something but it was a lot of money in those
days. My mother found a job as a cook in a four-star hotel and everything was fine for
a while until the homesickness got the better of her. She ended up selling up and
moving back to England after only ten months so she really didn’t give the place a
chance. Mind you, the hours she worked were ridiculous; I was beginning to forget
what she looked like. I saw more of the child-minder than I did her, but I loved that
paradise…it’s just a distant memory now though…’
They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long moment before they began to kiss
passionately as though they’d been apart for months, not caring about anybody or
anything else except each other. They hastily and forcefully began to fondle each
other and he could feel his erection growing.
‘I want you Tom…I want you so much,’ she whispered in his ear. He suddenly
pulled away and got to his feet, which frustrated her.
‘Tom, what’s the matter, what the hell’s wrong? I thought…’
‘I’m sorry Cath, I just can’t…I’m…sorry.’
She sighed loudly, leaned back and folded her arms tightly.
‘Why won’t you come near me anymore? I thought all the stuff from last year
was supposed to be water under the bridge…they were your words Tom, not mine.’
He glared at her intently.
‘So we haven’t had sex for a little while, God Almighty Cath, it’s not the end
of the world.’ She leapt to her feet.
‘A little while…more like nearly four bloody months. Bloody hell Tom, I have
needs you know; you might have lost interest, but I’m only human.’
‘Well you should’ve thought about that before you started playing away
behind my back and then having the cheek to blame me. I’m only human too Cath,
and I’m finding it hard to just…sweep things under the carpet.’
‘Damn you Tom, I thought we’d been through all this crap, but no, you have
to keep bringing the sordid past up every chance you get, you arsehole.’ His eyes
burned into hers.
‘Well it’s the sordid past that you created Cath not me, and if you need a
sexual fix so badly, then why don’t you buy a bloody vibrator, at least that won’t let
you down and say no.’
‘You fucking bastard,’ she seethed before punching him in the mouth, hard
enough to knock him to the floor. He pulled himself back to his feet, wiping the blood
from his lips and shaking his head.
‘Go on, hit me again if it makes you feel any better, I’m past caring.’
She pulled her fist back, ready to strike again when the urgency of the loud
banging on the front door startled them both.
‘Jesus fucking bloody well Christ almighty, who the hell is that at this time of
night?’ Donohue cursed as the banging continued.
‘All right I’m not deaf; I’m coming.’
He wrenched open the front door and groaned inwardly when he recognised
the scowl, which constantly adorned DI Tony Johnson’s face. He hadn’t seen him for
a few months but he’d aged considerably since his last pointless visit. Donohue had
heard recent rumours of his ailing health, and now he knew they weren’t rumours – he
looked dreadful.
‘A few questions if you don’t mind Donohue,’ the detective barked arrogantly
as he pushed past followed by DS Colin Davis.
‘I hope you’ve got a warrant Johnson,’ Donohue seethed over his shoulder
before closing the door. Normally he would leave it open, hopefully for the
detective’s swift departure – but tonight the cold air was too intrusive.
Johnson crouched in front of the fireplace mockingly warming his hands,
leaving his partner to look on in embarrassment.
‘I said a few questions; I don’t need a warrant for that do I?’
‘You need a warrant to enter my property though don’t you? Oh I forgot, you
lot have your own book of rules anyway. So come on then, what questions do you
want to ask…what have I done now?’
Donohue tried to act as brave as he could in front of his girlfriend, but inside
he felt dread and confusion once again. He pitied, yet even feared Johnson, and
rightfully so, for he’d never escape the knowledge that he partly contributed to his
gaunt and deathly state, not to mention his obsessive and still flourishing vendetta.
He could feel the hatred radiating from this man; he knew no amount of apologies
could ever console such a tormented mind.
‘Cath, why don’t you go up and see if the boys are all right.’ She left the room
hesitantly.
Donohue spoke quietly.
‘Listen Johnson, There’s two kids upstairs in bed; they’ve got to be up early
for school…so what the bloody hell do you want?’
‘Ah yes, kids…I remember when I had two of those; it seems such a long time
ago now though,’ Johnson replied resignedly, glancing at the ceiling.
Donohue let out a long sigh and poured himself another Jameson.
‘They’re not even my kids anyway. Now look, you either tell me what’s on
your mind or you can get out because I’m really not in any mood for your pathetic
games.’
Johnson put a cigarette between his lips, patting his pockets in search of a
lighter. He noticed the Zippo on the coffee table. He noticed something else too: the
unmistakable odour of skunk, as well as the joint, which had since gone out in the
ashtray. The DI picked it up.
‘What’s this then, an albino cigar? I could smell the shit as soon as I walked
through the door.’
Donohue slammed his glass down onto the glass surface; the ashtray rattled as
a result.
‘I could smell the booze on you as soon as you walked in, so what. You know
as well as I do that cannabis has been downgraded to a class C drug, so what are you
going to do, arrest me for one joint? You’ll be the biggest laughing stock on the whole
force.’
‘The difference is son, booze is legal…cannabis isn’t.’
‘Is it legal for you to drink while you’re on duty? I think not.’
‘Look, Donohue, if I know you, I’d say you had a stash tucked away
somewhere you druggie bastard, but I wouldn’t waste my time arresting you on
trumped-up charges like that. When I get you, it’ll be for something big,
something…very big and you won’t even see me coming. One way or another
though…I’ll have you, mark my words, sunshine.’
He lit his cigarette with Donohue’s lighter before he spoke again.
‘I’m not here about drugs anyway…or am I? You see a very serious crime was
committed last night…well two actually and it probably did have something to do
with drugs in the long run. For a start, an innocent man was battered to death; his
skull smashed beyond recognition just to steal his car for less than an hour. Why did
they steal the car? So they could rob an off license and use it as a quick getaway. Why
did they rob an off license? Probably so they could buy fucking drugs…Christ
Donohue, everybody and everything around you has something to do with drugs.’
Johnson’s ranting now became irritating; it was also confusing. Thankfully,
Cath was still upstairs and Donohue didn’t want her to hear too many details. The
Inspector’s voice grew louder.
‘The lot of you make me sick, why don’t you all just piss off down the sewer
where you belong? If I had my way, this shitty country would have the same law as
Singapore…Dahdah is death, which means the death penalty for possession of any
drug whatsoever, and when you see him you can tell him that…’
Donohue interrupted.
‘What the hell are you on about…what’s a murder and robbery got to do with
me? I was out with Cath last night and we went for a meal; ask her when she comes
down if you don’t believe me…it’s a night she won’t forget in a hurry let me tell you.’
Donohue took a sip of his drink and waited for somebody to break the silence.
He glared at the Inspector angrily.
‘Are you going to tell me what the hell you want or what? I’ll ask again, why
are you telling me about somebody getting his head caved in, and a shop that’s been
robbed?’
‘Because your fucking brother did it that’s why; the stupid bastard didn’t even
disguise himself all that well; he’s on CCTV shooting the place up with an automatic
weapon and he’ll need every official in the world to get him out of this one. Let’s face
it, Tom son; he’s fucked no matter which way you look at it. The morons’ thought
they could cover their tracks by torching the stolen getaway car, but it just confirms
their stupidity. For months now, unsolved robberies have plagued this city…his cards
are marked now though. They might as well have left their names and addresses at the
scene, now here’s the thing…where is he?’
Donohue sat in the nearest armchair shaking his head, partly with disbelief and
partly because he knew his younger brother could be capable of killing. He already
knew of his thieving antics to support his girlfriend’s crack-addiction. Why he
bothered with her he’d never know in a billion years.
‘I don’t have the slightest idea where he is, and I don’t have much to do with
him these days so why don’t you ask his crack-head girlfriend. I take it you do know
he lives with her.’
The DI crouched in front of him. He looked directly into his eyes.
‘We’ve already done that Donohue; an armed response unit raided that
shithole this afternoon and that druggie bitch is already down the station sweating it
out in a cell as we speak. We’ll get him…it’s just a question of when. Your brother
and his pals are right up to their necks in their own stinking shit this time. Do you
know how many unsolved shop raids date back as far as February? We could do them
for…’
This time DS Davis spoke.
‘Look Mr. Donohue…the…the thing is…what my…my superior is saying is
that…in the event of…of a crime such as this…’
Johnson’s head spun round.
‘Shut it Davis, let me do the talking because I can get more out of him than
you.’
Before Donohue could speak, Davis carried on with his broken speech.
‘Look Tony, th…this is wrong and you…you know it.’
Donohue got to his feet.

‘Listen to me Johnson, I haven’t seen my brother for months so I don’t know
what the hell it is you want from me. If I was you I’d give it a rest before the hole
you’re digging gets any deeper…better still, why don’t you just do us all a favour and
retire...or resign. Now if you don’t mind can you please leave before Cath comes back
down? I’ll tell her all this when you’ve gone as I think I’m a bit more tactful
than you.’
The DI made for the hall followed by his colleague. He abruptly turned to face
Donohue as he opened the front door.
‘Just you remember son; you’ll also go down for harbouring a killer and it
won’t be before time.’
The DI stared at the ground as if in deep thought for a moment, when he
looked up he was grinning maliciously.
‘Murder must run in your family don’t you think? First you murder my two
kids and now your prick of a brother…’
Donohue slammed the front door before he could finish, but his ramblings
continued through the letterbox.
‘Your brother is fucked do you understand? And I’ll be watching every move
you make like a fucking hawk, you murdering bastard.’
‘It’s payback time for that scumbag,’ Johnson snarled, lighting another
cigarette with the dashboard lighter.
‘Don’t you think you went a bit too far in there Tony? I mean what’s this
business about him killing your kids?’
‘It’s none of your business it’s between me and him so shut it and drive.’
‘It is my business when you go around harassing people who aren’t even
suspects though. You’re supposed to be a professional and that means not letting old
grudges get in the way of a case. Frankly, I don’t want to know what the problem is
between you and him, I’ve heard a few rumours…’
Johnson took a swig of whisky from his hip flask. He wiped his mouth and
harshly turned around in his seat until he almost slipped to the floor. He steadied
himself.
‘Listen to me Davis, and listen good, you’ve got a lot to learn. You only got
transferred a couple of months ago…now I don’t know how they do things in
Durham, but up here it’s a whole new ball game; a very select few officers have their
own methods and if you think I was too hard on that prick then you’re ignorant. Some
of the other arseholes in this job make me look like Jesus fucking Christ in a bloody
good mood. Don’t bother looking surprised, our superiors have their fingers in lots of
pies; they’re all bent one way or another. I might not do everything strictly by the
book, but at least I’ve never and I mean never took any back-handers or bribes from
anybody.’
Davis was puzzled.
‘Are you trying to tell me all the coppers In this department are on the take?
Come on Tony, you can’t seriously expect me to believe that.’
‘I don’t know which tree you fell out of Davis man, but you should wake up
and smell the fucking coffee. Sometimes you act like you’ve just stepped off a
conveyer belt, and anyway, I didn’t say all of them are bent…just a handful.’
An uncomfortable silence hung in the air until Davis spoke.
‘If you’re going on about crooked police, then I’m interested…I’m on your
side for crying out loud, but how the hell am I supposed to help if you keep shutting
me out man?’
‘Have you heard of Frank Hackett?’ Johnson asked quietly.
Davis looked confused.
‘As you know I’m not from around here, but the name does ring a bell.’
Johnson let out a sarcastic laugh.
‘Well he’s the local crime kingpin in this sewer of a city; he’s into everything
dodgy. Drugs, prostitution, protection, murder, arms smuggling you name it, he’s
involved in it.’
‘So what’s he got to do with anything? I thought you were talking about bent
coppers.’
Johnson became impatient.
‘Who do you think pays your boss’s salary? Why do you think the Chief
Inspector lives in a fucking mansion in Ponteland? Christ, why do you think the
Superintendent has a Rolls Royce collection? They’re on the take all right, the fucking
lot of them; some of the constables are on more money than me and it makes me
sick.’
‘Come on, surely you’re taking the piss. If you think it’s really that bad why
don’t you just pack it all in? You sound like you hate this job.’
‘And you love it?’ Johnson snapped back.
‘Well I must admit it’s something that I always wanted to do since I was a
kid. I mean uphold the law and protect the people.’
‘Yeah well welcome to reality because it just doesn’t work like that. I always
wanted to be a solicitor but no, that wasn’t allowed. My dad was a copper so he
forced me into following in his footsteps. He said all solicitors are as bent as us
coppers, and he was right. There’s a very fine line between them and us as I’ve found
out over the years, and as for me just packing it all in…well I don’t know whether
you’ve heard but I’ve only got a few months left to live anyway. I just don’t give a
shit anymore but I can proudly hold my head up high and say that I’ve never accepted
dirty money to look the other way. The whole system stinks to high heaven and I
know I should be forced to leave on medical grounds.’
‘How come you didn’t ask him any questions like you said you were going
to?’ Davis asked quietly.
‘Well I didn’t get much chance did I. Anyway, I did ask him where that prick
of a brother of his is hiding…and get this, you know as well as I do that it was an
unofficial visit. Drive me to the nearest pub, I need a few pints.’
‘I thought you had to see the Chief Inspector and fill him in on our progress.’
‘The fucking Chief Inspector can wait, and anyway…what progress? So far
we’ve come up with as much evidence as I can write on a fucking bottle top. All
we’ve got is the poxy video from the shop and it would probably be inadmissible in
court according to the bastard officials, so you tell me…where’s the justice in that?’
They headed for the city Centre.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ Cath asked as she re-lit the joint.
Donohue was sitting on the couch; his head buried deep in his hands. When he
looked up his complexion was deathly white. He spoke quietly and shakily.
‘Apparently that idiotic brother of mine battered somebody to death and
robbed a shop last night.’ He jumped to his feet, his voice now raised.
‘I can’t believe this is happening. I really don’t need this crap
now…not now.’
It was Cath’s turn to look shocked.
‘Are you sure it was him? I mean maybe he’s made a mistake. Surely your
Bryan isn’t capable of…murder.’
‘Maybe you can’t believe it but I know what he’s capable of. I knew one day
he’d go too far.’
He stood at the fireplace drumming his fingers on the mantle piece, shaking
his head.
‘Apparently him and two of his delinquent…friends have been holding up
shops for nearly a year…maybe even longer. I’m going to have to try and get in
touch somehow; where the hell is my phone?’ He ran to the armchair and reached into
his jacket pocket. His hands shook as he pressed the digits; it took him three attempts
before he finally heard the ring tone.
‘Bryan, what the fuck have you gone and done now you fucking idiot?
I’ve just had that miserable bastard Johnson round here giving me grief about you
killing some bloke and robbing a shop or something. Please tell me it’s not true…
please.’
‘He’s a fucking liar; I never killed anybody it was that stupid arsehole Dodds.’
‘Well what the hell happened?’
For the next five-minutes Bryan Donohue told his brother about the disastrous
robbery.
‘Where are you now?’
‘I’m staying at a mates in Sunderland. What did you tell Johnson?’
‘Well what could I tell him? It’s the first I heard about it, but I’ll tell you
something Bryan you stupid bastard, you might as well give yourself up now because
you haven’t got anywhere to run whatsoever, and don’t expect any help from me this
time because you’ve had it. You’re looking at twenty-odd years and that’s a fact.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about me; I’m going to stay well hidden until I get enough
money together and then I’m leaving the country.’
‘And how the hell are you going to do that, rob even more shops…kill even
more people? You’re living in a fantasy world man. Every pig in the land are out for
your blood and you’re just calmly going to get on a plane and emigrate…you’re
probably already on the front page of tomorrows fucking Chronicle. Just face facts…
you’ve had it and there’s no two ways about it. By the way, I hope you
know that Tina is banged up and probably being questioned about your whereabouts.’
‘Don’t worry Tom, she doesn’t know where I am and don’t you say fuck all to
any grassing cunt either.’
‘Why the hell would I say anything? All I know is that you’re in Sunderland
somewhere and it’s quite a big city. Look, I’m not listening to any more of this shite;
I’ve got enough problems of my own.’
He slammed his mobile shut and hurled it onto the couch; it bounced off the
leather and hit the floor with a thud.
‘Is it true?’ Cath asked incredulously.
‘It’s true all right; maybe he didn’t actually do the killing but he’s an
accessory and he’s up shit creek this time. The thing that really gets me is the fact that
he doesn’t even give a shit…he just doesn’t care. His attitude stinks.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘There’s not a single thing that I can do, and to be honest, I don’t really give a
shit either. He’s on his own and it’s his problem. I’ve bailed him out in the past but
he’s in it way too deep this time.’
He sat back down, snatching the joint from her and taking a few drags until it
was finished.
‘Anyway, what the hell was wrong with that copper? He was quite nasty to
say the least…it’s not your fault you’ve got a psychopath for a brother. Surely, he
can’t just barge in like that talking to you like shit and treating the place like he owns
it. I mean aren’t there…rules?’
‘Cath, that bastard would invent his own rules for tiddlywinks. Apparently
he’s on his last legs so he could burn the house down if he wants, what’s he got to
lose? Anyway, let’s just forget about it because there’s absolutely nothing I can or
even want to do about it; the mad bastard is on his own this time, completely and
utterly and if that prick Johnson wants him, then he’s more than welcome to drag him
over hot lava, and throw him down a spiked pit for all I care.’
Cath looked anxious.
‘Are you sure you weren’t involved?’
They looked deep into each other’s eyes for eternal seconds, each trying to
outdo the other. Cath stood firmly with her arms folded; her unblinking glare never
wavered. Donohue frowned and looked away, taking a sip of his drink. He gripped the
glass tightly.
‘Look Cath, he said it happened last night; when we were having a disaster of
a meal at the Indians.’
‘It doesn’t matter Tom, you don’t have to be there to be involved and you
know it. Ever since Friday you’ve been a different person and things are starting to go
wrong…’
‘What do you mean…what’s gone wrong since Friday?’
Cath began to make her way to the kitchen for a bottle of wine; she turned
round, placing both her hands on the back of the couch.
‘Think about it, Thomas, first you’ve got to piss off to Amsterdam just…well
out of the blue. Then your brother ends up being wanted for murder and earlier on my
brother phoned to tell me his girlfriend’s leaving him…and this is all since you had to
meet Frank Hackett.’
‘Well you know what the mad bastard’s like, he’s a fucking omen and that’s
for sure; he’s like the grim reaper of this city. You can certainly guarantee your life to
go straight down the bog when Hackett comes knocking on your soul.’ He looked
confused.
‘So what’s your brother’s girlfriend leaving him got to do with anything?
Furthermore, Cath, I promise you I wasn’t in any way involved with Bryan and his
stupid mates last night. I mean come on man, for a start I was with you at the time,
and as for being involved…do you honestly think that robbery is…’
‘Calm down and relax Tom, I’m not stupid, I know you couldn’t be involved.
I just had to be sure.’
‘Well thanks for the vote of confidence,’ he shouted as she left the living
room. He followed her.
‘Well Tom, it gets even better; Alan has invited us round there tomorrow night
for our tea. He said it might cheer his girlfriend up…he says it’ll probably stop her
from leaving.’
‘Come on Cath, where the hell would she go if she left? She’d better not think
of coming here, not even for a minute.’
‘Calm down, this will be the last place she’ll end up. She’s not that
inconsiderate.’
‘I’ll tell you this much, I don’t know who to trust anymore. I just hope Lenny
turns out to be trustworthy on Tuesday that’s all. Listen, do we really have to go? I
mean no offence, but you know I don’t get on with your brother much. Can’t I just
stay here? As long as you turn up…’

‘Don’t get on, That’s a huge understatement isn’t it? You and me know for a
fact that you think he’s a total arsehole and I’ve never understood why. We’re both
invited Tom, so you can like it or lump it. I haven’t seen him for weeks and I
probably won’t see him again till well after Christmas. Come on, a few hours won’t
kill you.’
‘In that case I don’t have much choice do I?’ He said under his breath on the
way back to the living room. Cath followed closely behind with her wine.
‘I tell you what though Cath, I’d rather amputate both my legs with a rusty
saw than spend a few hours listening to his stupid stories again, but I suppose we
might as well get it over and done with.’
‘Thanks a lot Tom; that’s my brother you’re talking about you know.’
‘I don’t give a shit who he is; the bloke is a bloody nutcase. The last time we
were there, he took me into the garage to show me his collection of frigging…
Claymore landmines. He told me he was going to plant them in his back garden to
stop next doors cat from shitting on the lawn. I’m telling you the guy is definitely
Mozzarella short of a pizza and the worse thing about it is, sometimes he actually
thinks he’s being intelligent, but I’ve got more sense in the end of my prick than he’s
ever had in his miserable lifetime. I mean…fucking landmines. Have you ever heard
anything so ridiculous in your life?’
‘Have you finished slagging him off Tom? Because I’m too tired to listen to
any more of this shite tonight…I’m going to bed.’ She stormed off.
14 -- A MAN ON THE EDGE
THE STATION:
Tina Scott rocked back and forth mumbling incoherently to herself. She’d bitten her
nails so severely that some of her fingers were bleeding. Her crack addiction had
taken its toll over the years; her mousey hair hung in greasy strands around her
shoulders and she was painfully thin.
The ranting of the drunk occupying the cell next to hers no longer irritated her,
his obscenities towards the police were no more than unimportant monotonic
syllables. She ran to the steel door again and pleaded with anybody within earshot.
‘Will somebody please tell me what’s going on? I need to make a phone call; I
don’t even know why I’m in here…please.’

She turned with her back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor
sobbing uncontrollably. She curled into a foetal position feeling more helpless than
ever before. She didn’t know why she was here or why her place had been raided by
armed police…armed with guns. It couldn’t have been a drugs raid, not with…guns.
Bryan and his friends must’ve done something really bad for this to happen, and now
he’d disappeared without trace. She had a strong feeling where he was hiding, but she
had to keep it to herself.
She knew it must be wrong for them to handcuff and lock her up without even
telling her why. She wondered what time it was, but they’d taken her watch from her,
so there was no concept of time. They’d even taken her trainers and the loose change
she had in her pockets.
She quickly got to her feet when she heard somebody unlocking the door. A
young WPC greeted her with a mechanical smile.
‘What’s going on? Have you found my boyfriend yet? Can I please make a
phone call?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say, but if you’d just like to come with me.’
Her voice was stern and unsympathetic as she led Tina down a corridor.
‘Why can’t I just go home? I haven’t done anything wrong and I don’t even
know why I’ve been arrested; nobody’s even told me anything yet.’
‘Well that’s really not up to me,’ the officer replied abruptly when they
reached an interview room.
‘Sit down,’ DI Johnson growled as the door closed behind her. The squeaky
footsteps of the WPC faded down the corridor. She didn’t like the tone of the
Inspector’s voice at all, and he had an evil, cold look in his eyes, which quickly turned
her helplessness into fear.

‘I said sit down…now,’ he repeated harsher and louder. She quickly sat in a
chair opposite Johnson and Davis. The DS cleared his throat.
‘Do you know why you’re here, Miss Scott?’
‘Well no, I really don’t have a clue. All I know is that my front door was
smashed down; then I was threatened with guns, thrown to the floor, handcuffed and
dragged down here without being told anything or even being charged with anything
so how the hell would I know why I’m here?’
Johnson glared at her as though she was the devil incarnate. He pulled out a
box of Balmoral Superkings and took one out for himself before offering one to Tina,
which she snatched from the pack with desperation. He searched his pockets for a
lighter but gave up after a while, and instead, tapped the cigarette repeatedly on the
desk, his eyes never left Tina’s now confused and worried expression. She stared
at Davis imploringly before speaking.
‘Look, will somebody please tell me why I’m here? I haven’t even been
charged with anything and I want to know whether I need a solicitor or not.’
‘Where’s Bryan Donohue?’ Johnson asked evenly.
‘I don’t know where he is; I thought you were going to tell me. I haven’t seen
him since yesterday and…’
‘Listen, your scumbag boyfriend is on the run for murder along with two of
his low-life mates and I think you know exactly where he is,’ Johnson snarled.
Davis looked into her eyes sympathetically.
‘Look, Miss Scott…if you know of his or his two friends’ whereabouts you
have to tell us; it’s very important. They may very well commit another murder so
they need to be brought to justice as quickly as possible; it’s in the publics’ interest.’
Her gaze drifted downwards; it was a while before she spoke again and when
she did, the edge had gone from her voice.
‘The last time I saw him was last night at about half-eight. He came home to
change his clothes and went straight back out again.’
‘I bet he changed his clothes,’ the DI said sarcastically.
‘Anyway, before he went back out, he just seemed normal as if nothing had
happened. He wasn’t acting like h…he’d killed anybody…who’s he supposed to…to
have killed anyway? He’s not a…murderer.’
Johnson dropped the cigarette onto the desk and got to his feet.
‘Listen, Colin, why don’t you go and get us some coffee…and while you’re at
it, try and find a bloody lighter. The DS reluctantly left the room.
Johnson slowly walked behind Tina; he bent low, his face inches from her
right ear.
‘Listen you fucking junkie slut, I know for a fact you know where that prick of
a boyfriend of yours is and by Christ I’m going to find out one way or another, so
you’d better make it easy on yourself and start talking…right now.’
‘Look, if I’m not being charged with anything, you have to let me go it’s as
simple as that.’
She got to her feet and made for the door, but Johnson grabbed her hair and
threw her back into the room. She hit the desk, fell over the chair and hit the floor
with a loud crash. He rushed forward and kicked her hard in the back of the head; she
yelped in pain and shock.
‘Now you’re going to tell me the truth bitch,’ he seethed as he pulled the
terrified girl to her feet, ripping her sweatshirt in the process.
He punched her hard in the face; then hurled her across the room with such
force that her head made a crater in the plasterboard when she struck the wall. He
moved towards her again. She tried in desperation to scramble away from him on all
fours. She couldn’t believe this was happening – not in a police station. He forced her
onto her back and sat astride her. He put his hands around her throat, and squeezed
tightly. Spittle from his venomous words sprayed her face.
‘Where is he you fucking druggie whore? Where is he?’ The door crashed
open; Davis and a young PC rushed forward to drag him off her before it was too late.
‘What the hell’s going on, Johnson?’
The DI leapt to his feet shrugging off the two officers. He leant against the
wall and ran his hand through his hair.
‘The mad bitch attacked me when you left the room,’ he said breathlessly.
Davis stared at the bloodied and bruised figure writhing on the floor; she’d rolled onto
her side and was now in the throes of a violent coughing fit.
‘Jesus Christ, what have you done?’ Davis turned towards the PC.
‘Call an ambulance.’
Other officers were now pouring into the interview room – the Chief Inspector
among them. He glanced at Tina, who now sat upright, helped by the same WPC
escort from earlier.
Chief Inspector Carlton was a middle-aged balding man of medium build.
He’d been on the force for twenty-four years and this was the first time he’d come
across an act of stupidity such as this – a beating of a suspect in front of witnesses.
Carlton had handed out his fair share of intimidation and beatings over the
years (he’d even put a few suspects in hospital), it was all part of the job. He always
made sure there were never any witnesses, and if there were any, they were usually in
on it with him. He was convinced that he had plenty of influence, but most of the
force thought he was a big mouth and a show-off. He strolled slowly towards
Johnson; his small grey eyes glared at the DI with hatred.
‘Right Johnson, you’ve gone too far this time. I think we’ll take a little trip up
to the Superintendent’s office don’t you? Now move it.’ Carlton began to escort the
DI from the interview room.
‘I know exactly where his office is so if you don’t mind I’ll make my own way
there…and, if you put your hands on me again, I’ll break your fucking arm,’ Johnson
shook himself free.
‘You’re bang out of order Johnson…bang out of order,’ Carlton shouted after
him.
The wind struck Johnson’s face like a million frozen needles when he stepped
outside; the sweat on his brow turned ice cold. He glanced up at the building briefly
before climbing into his car.
‘Fucking wankers the lot of you,’ he muttered under his breath.
He needed a cigarette, he patted his pockets and realised he’d left them in the
station. He decided that the best way to calm down was to drive around the city
streets for a while until he found a quiet pub.
Three-hours later he returned to the station. Halfway up the stairs he had to
pause. The sudden jolt of pain that gripped his insides was so intense that he had to
hold on to the banister to compose himself until it subsided.
When he reached Superintendent Jack Thornton’s office, he noticed that the
door was slightly ajar. He heard Davis’s voice, but every time he tried to speak,
Thornton rudely interrupted him.
Davis suddenly rushed from the office looking resigned and angry. The DI
caught his attention.

‘Well Col, did our lordship of shittam break any more rules or laws?’
Davis turned to face the inspector.
‘I tell you what Tony, you weren’t kidding about corruption round here.’ He
nodded towards the office door.
‘He’s lost the bloody plot if you ask me…watch out when you go in
there…don’t let him trip you up.’
Johnson sighed and leaned closer to his partner.
‘Look Colin, that bastard’s had his head stuck up so many arses over the years,
he doesn’t even know how to think for himself anymore. Give him a few more
months, and the bent twat will be finished…mark my words.’
Davis began to descend the stairs.
‘I’ll see you later,’ he said through clenched teeth.
‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing each other again Col…just watch your back with
these dirty cunts.’ Johnson barged into the office without knocking.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Thornton shouted. He was a short but
extremely broad man with greying hair, and each line that creased his fifty-four-year-
old face told a different story of corruption.
‘Does it bloody matter where I’ve been? I had to get out of this shithole for a
while because it stinks of incompetence.’
‘All that stinks around here at the moment Johnson, is your breath and your
attitude; now what the hell have you been playing at? Are you proud of yourself for
beating up a defenceless young girl half your size and body weight you fool?’
‘That defenceless girl was about to walk out the building, and I’ll tell you
something else, she knows something…I had to subdue her. Anyway, since when did
you become all fucking moralistic?’

Thornton leapt from his chair.
‘You listen to me Johnson, extracting information is one thing, but you went
too far this time and I know why…because she just happens to live with Tommy
Donohue’s younger brother. Just who the hell do you think you are, Dirty bloody
Harry? You keep banging on about incompetence and corruption day in, day out, and
yet you’ve probably dug all our graves for us.’
Thornton’s voice rose in volume.
‘This isn’t personal; you’re supposed to be investigating a crime man. Just
look at the state of you, you’re a mess, you’re always stinking of booze, you’re
always unshaven and your attitude is completely unacceptable. I hope you realise the
IPCC will more than likely be all over us like flies on horseshit because of your
incompetence. If that girl brings charges against us (and she very well might do)
we’ll all be investigated.’
Johnson walked slowly towards the desk. He looked his superior coldly in the
eyes when he spoke.
‘I know why you’re shitting bricks Thornton; if we are investigated, you might
be in grave danger of losing all the perks you’ve illegally acquired over the years.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘I’ll spell it out for you then. You live like a king, you’re hardly ever here. If
you’re not playing golf, you’re abroad in one of your many holiday homes, and when
you are around, you’re usually on one of your expensive business lunches with half
the scumbags in the fucking city. Where does all the money come from that’s what I’d
like to know?’
Thornton sat back down and shook his head.
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at Johnson but I don’t like your tone at all…
it’s completely foolish and unacceptable.’
‘Well try this for size…Frank ‘The Wanker’ Hackett…the nutter pays certain
officers handsomely to look the other way every time the bastard has tons of drugs
and firearms shipped into the country. Every time he murders some bastard, you lot
turn a blind eye because he lines your pockets, and that obviously explains why he’s
been getting away with it for so long because the so-called fucking law are on his
side. He really is untouchable because of you and your gang of crooks isn’t he?’
Thornton rose to his feet again.
‘Those are really serious allegations Johnson, and you’re already in enough
trouble as it is so I’d think really carefully before you say anything else. Do you
realise I could have you for slander against a senior officer?’
Johnson grinned and leaned closer.
‘But you know as well as I do that you can’t because it’s all true isn’t it?’
Thornton’s voice became shaky and the DI couldn’t tell if it was with anger or
fear of being uncovered.
‘Your accusations are totally unfounded Johnson, and what’s more, they’re
completely untrue. I got where I am today because I’ve worked hard and people
respect me because…’
‘Christ Almighty, now you even sound like Hackett.’
‘This conversation is closed Johnson. Now you’re not only off the case; you’re
suspended until further notice for gross misconduct. I’ll be allocating Detective
Inspector Williams to this case. Let’s see if he can come up with the goods because
you obviously can’t.’
Johnson laughed heartily.
‘That fat cunt needs three chairs just to sit down. You really are scraping the
bottom of the barrel Thornton…at least I get results because I’m honest.’
‘Listen Johnson, I must have been asleep to put you on a case like this. I
should’ve pulled you off it the moment I found out Donohue was involved, now if
that’s incompetence in your eyes then I’m guilty as charged. You should’ve taken a
statement from the victim’s wife this morning but no, you had to go charging round to
Tommy Donohue’s house instead hours later, and tanked-up to the bloody
eyeballs…on an unofficial visit I might add. Oh yes I got the gory details from Davis
earlier.’
‘What gory details? I went round there to find out where the hell his mad
brother is, and as for not taking a statement from the victim’s wife this morning, when
I got there she was on the way to hospital suffering from shock, and she’s probably
still there now…’
‘I repeat…you’re suspended pending further inquiries and this conversation is
closed, now get out.’
Johnson opened the office door; he paused before he turned to face his
superior.
‘One thing’s for sure, Thornton, I’m going to get Hackett whatever it takes,
and God help anybody who gets in my way; his family and friends aren’t as
invincible as you might think.’ He slammed the door so hard that the frosted glass
almost crashed from its frame.
Thornton waited until the footsteps faded down the stairs before he picked up
the phone.
‘Frank, listen to me…’ His eyes never left the door.
‘Wha-hey Jack, how you doing old son?’
‘Frank, we’ve got problems, big problems.’ Thornton quickly briefed him on
the earlier escapades.
‘Look, Jack, this girl you mentioned; do you think she’ll talk?’
‘No I don’t think so, she’s just a washed up bloody powder head. I think she
can be paid off but it’s that bastard Johnson I’m worried about; he said he’s coming
after you no matter what.’ The raucous laughter at the other end of the phone
startled Thornton.
‘Frank this is no laughing matter you fool; he’s a man on the edge and by the
look of him…put it this way, he hasn’t got long left in the world. He’s a bloody loose
cannon and he’s got nothing to lose…he never did have anything to lose as far as that
goes.’
‘He sounds like he’s being a right pain in the fucking arse. Why the bloody
hell did you have to kick him off the force without going through the proper
disciplinary procedure? You could’ve just given him a desk job to keep him sweet.’
‘I’m not taking any chances, if he starts shouting his mouth off, we could all
be under close scrutiny and that’s unacceptable. Besides, judging by his attitude he
wanted out anyway.’
‘Listen Jack, if the Independent Police Complaints Commission do start
sniffing round, it’ll be him they’ll be hounding…come on old son, he’s the one who
kicked the shit out of a suspect, nobody else.’
‘I know that Frank but if he starts mouthing off about corruption it could
arouse suspicion, and I just can’t have that.’
‘Do you really think his word (an alcoholic second rate copper) against yours
will hold any weight?’
‘I can see your point but this needs to be sorted out one way or another.’
‘So what do you suggest we do about it?’

‘Well Frank, I’ll come straight to the point…he’s a thorn that needs to be
taken out of my side.’
‘Leave it to me, I’m an expert at putting the frighteners on adversaries.’
15 -- YOU CAN TAKE SOMEBODY OUT OF THE
ARMY, BUT YOU CAN’T TAKE THE ARMY OUT
OF THEM
Lucy Ling couldn’t believe her eyes; she thought the amount of money she held in her
hands was phenomenal for such a simple babysitting job.
‘But Miss Elliot…come on please, there’s fifty pounds here; I can’t accept
this.’ Cath gripped her shoulders and glared intently into her oriental eyes.
‘Listen Lucy pet, you deserve it. You’re one of the only ones round here who
possesses more than a few ounces of decency, and thanks again for coming at such
short notice. Look at it this way, with Christmas just around the corner it’ll come in
handy.’
‘Well if you’re sure? I mean you’ll be back in a few hours anyway. It just
seems like such a lot of money.’
‘Listen Lucy love, you’re a godsend. I would’ve asked my mother, but her car
has broken down again.’
‘In other words she’s never approved of me,’ Donohue said under his breath.
Cath heard his comment and gently elbowed him in the ribs.
‘She just thinks you should get a haircut that’s all. Now listen kids, be good
for Lucy or you’ll get bugger all for Christmas.’
‘Are you going to play on the Playstation 2 with us Lucy?’ Danny asked as he
bounded towards the console. Peter was already sat on the couch playing with his
Gameboy; the irritating electronic sounds mingled with a children’s programme on
the TV. Cath pecked her sons on the cheek before heading towards the front door.
‘And remember Danny boy, don’t kill too many innocent civilians on Vice
City or you’ll have the police on your back.’
‘Don’t worry Tommy, I’ve got all the cheats now, so there,’ the youngster
replied.
Cath decided not to have a drink, and drive them to her brother’s instead.
They both ran to the Almera, parked beside the Lexus on the wide driveway. When
they climbed in, Cath put the key in the ignition; she looked forward in dismay as she
started the car.
The thick ice on the windscreen made visibility impossible; she thought it
would be easier trying to look through ten bathroom windowpanes stacked together.
She knew that the windscreen wipers would barely move so she climbed from
the car and rushed to the boot. She quickly grabbed a can of anti-freeze and hurried to
the front of the car; she vigorously began to spray the contents of the can onto the
windscreen. When she’d emptied it she dumped it in the nearby wheelie bin before
she hurried back into the car shivering.
‘It’s absolutely bloody freezing out there tonight. I tell you what Tom, there’s
definitely snow on the way. Either that or I’ve just crawled from under a frozen
bloody pond.’ Her teeth began to chatter as she fastened her seat belt.’
‘Very witty Cath darling, but can we go please because it’s also like the
Antarctic in here now seeing as you left the door open.’
‘Why the hell are you in such a hurry to get there when you’ve been dreading
going since last night?’
‘Because the sooner we get there the sooner we get back.’
‘Bloody hell Tom, give the bloody anti-freeze time to work will you.’
He looked down studying the veins on the back of his hands while they
waited.
‘Listen Cath, I might not get another chance to tell you this…but I’m scared
shitless, and I know that sounds absolutely ridiculous but…never mind.’
He looked up when his girlfriend spoke, but didn’t turn towards her voice,
instead he stared at the melting ice on the windscreen and visualised his life dripping
away from him. The warmth of her embracing arms and the tender lips on his cheek
made him turn to face her. The honesty in her eyes was unconvincing.
‘Look Tom, you can tell me anything, you know that don’t you babe? Now
how about that daft plan of yours when you get back from Holland, let’s just grab the
boys and get the hell away…even if it’s freezing cold, who cares? At least we’ll be
safe…at least we’ll be well away from here.’

‘Listen Cath, do you think we should really go tonight with Johnson on the
prowl…I mean Lucy’s an easy target and I don’t trust him one little bit.’
‘I know there’s something going on between you and that copper, and
I’d love to know what it is.’
He stared ahead as if mesmerised by the (now working) windscreen wipers.
‘I’ll tell you when I get back Cath, I swear.’
She shook her head smirking as she left the Almera again to open the gates.
‘And pigs might grow wings,’ she said quietly as she climbed back into the
car.
Her brother lived only a few streets away but they didn’t want to brave such
extreme weather on foot.
‘Well here we go then,’ Cath sighed, ringing the doorbell.
Donohue tried his best to be calm when he heard footsteps coming towards the
front door, but deep inside he felt sheer panic; he really didn’t want to come here
tonight. The aggravation wasn’t needed.
The front door opened and Dawn Howarth beamed out into the night. She
hugged Cath tightly as she stepped over the threshold.
‘It’s great to see you both again; how are you?’ Her expression turned to one
of smugness when she glared at Donohue over his girlfriend’s shoulder.
After the embrace, Cath made her way to the living room; now it was
Donohue’s turn. She hugged him tighter than she hugged Cath and she spoke softly
into his ear; he could smell the sherry on her breath.
‘I just knew you couldn’t stay away Thomas, my prince. I bet you don’t love
me as much as I love you though. She began to stroke the back of his head and
smother his face with kisses.

‘My God, Dawn just bloody stop it will you. What the hell are you trying to
do; they’re only in the next room man.’
‘Well it gets even better than that Thomas; Alan’s convinced himself that I’m
having an affair with some poor joker a few doors down, that’s how bloody stupid he
is.’
He glanced over her shoulder towards the living room door.
‘So he doesn’t know it’s me then?’
‘Put it this way, if he did know, do you think you’d still be in the hall with me for this
long without being under his supervision?’
When he entered the living room, Alan Elliot was standing by the fireplace; he
outstretched his hand and Donohue shook it reluctantly. He was a tall, athletic man
with bitterness in his pale blue eyes. Donohue noticed beads of sweat on his brow and
he wasn’t surprised, for the heat in the room was stifling and he wore a thick army
jumper, which made Donohue feel uncomfortable. He had a phobia about jumpers and
the mere sight of it made him sweat.
‘How you doing? It’s good to see you Tommy. How’s tricks at the old boozer
these days…talking of which, what do you want to drink?’
‘I’ll have something cold if you’ve got it please.’
Cath’s brother headed for the kitchen where Dawn was busy inspecting a
chicken casserole, which had already been in the oven for almost two hours.
‘You know you really should cheer up and make more of an effort; I invited
my sister over tonight to try and smooth things over. First you deny you’ve been two-
timing me, then you threaten to leave even though you’ve got nowhere to go, no
family or friends…nothing and nobody and now you’re giving me the silent
treatment.’ His expression was as evil as the words he spat at her. She threw down the
oven gloves.
‘Look Alan, I’m sick of your bloody attitude; I’m sick of your smug jibes and
I’m sick of being put down all the time. One day you’ll go too far and I swear to God
I will just walk out that door because I can’t take much more of this crap. What were
you trying to prove by inviting those two round tonight? Did you really think it
would solve all our problems? How would you like it if I kept accusing you of
having affairs every time you leave the house…how do I know you haven’t been up to
your old tricks? You’re such a bloody hypocrite Alan.’
He glared at her venomously and searched for an intimidating answer while
she retrieved the oven gloves and put the casserole back in the oven. She slammed the
oven door harshly. Bonzo the black Labrador hurried back into the living room, for it
could sense the tension in the atmosphere again.
‘What do you expect you frigid bitch, you haven’t come near me in Christ
knows how long,’ he snapped before returning to the living room with two cans of
Holsten Pils lager. He gave one to Donohue.
‘Nothing for me thanks Alan I’m driving but I’d love a coffee,’ Cath said.
Donohue quickly made for the kitchen.
‘I’ll tell Dawn,’ he said over his shoulder. He closed the kitchen door behind
him when he saw her hunched over the sink.
‘Are you all right? Cath said something about you leaving last night…is it
true?’ She turned to face him and he noticed the anguish in her eyes.
‘How the hell can I leave? I’ve got nowhere to go and he knows it; apart from
that I just haven’t got the guts or determination to walk out, but I’ll tell you
something, I’m just about at the end of my tether with that bastard. Anyway, what do
you care, you washed your hands of me last night remember.’

‘Come on Dawn it wasn’t like that and you know it.’
‘Wasn’t it?’ her voice was bitter.
‘I thought we went through all this last night. I mean come on Dawn, what do
you want me to say.’ They stared at each other for a long moment.
‘I love you Tom, and I always will; plain and simple.’
He looked away lost for words.
‘You can’t admit it can you lover boy? I know you feel the same way as me.’
Her voice grew louder.
‘Keep your voice down will you. Can’t we talk about this another time and
place please?’
‘Like where, another secluded country pub? Tom I need to know how you feel
about me, I need to hear you actually tell me to my face and I don’t care if it’s good or
bad, but I need to know.’ Tears welled up in his eyes.
She threw her arms around him and kissed him passionately; he didn’t resist.
Before they knew what was happening, they were all over each other, oblivious to
their whereabouts. She grabbed his erection through his jeans while his right hand
found its way up her skirt. He began to rub her clitoris through her already damp
knickers. Familiar waves of pleasure were already beginning to sweep through her
body as the door opened.
Donohue immediately pulled away almost stumbling. He grabbed hold of the
fridge to keep his balance but he’d already put his foot in the Labrador’s food bowl;
the moisture soaked through his sock.
‘Shit, I don’t believe this,’ he hissed through clenched teeth.
Cath appeared in the doorway and he couldn’t believe his luck when she was
still busy talking to her brother over her shoulder. It was a lucky escape. She turned
towards the commotion with a grin on her face.
‘Tom, what are you trying to do, and where’s my coffee?’
‘It’s on its way don’t worry…as you can see I’ve just had a little accident.’ He
hopped towards the toilet to wash his foot. She looked at Dawn and shook her head.
‘I don’t know, I tell you he’s getting worse that bloke of mine. Something
smells nice, what’s cooking?’
‘Oh it’s just a chicken casserole, nothing spectacular. I was going to make a
curry but you know how fussy Alan is.’
When the meal was over, Cath decided to help Dawn with the washing up
while Elliot took Donohue on one of his usual tours of his garage. Each time they
were invited it was the same old story. He really couldn’t be bothered to listen to
more lectures on various weapons and junk that cluttered the place. It seemed like he
had even more toys every few months; he wondered what he had in store for him this
time. He wished he would hurry up and open the steel door; the wind was
excruciating.
Once they were inside, Elliot turned on the light and closed the door. He
hurried to the back of the garage, beckoning Donohue to follow. Elliot seemed
fascinated by two wooden crates in the corner.
‘What is it?’ Donohue asked trying not to sound bored.
‘These are my latest collector’s items, just wait till you see these.’ He pulled
the lid from the first crate and picked up one of the twelve objects that lay on a foam
bed.
‘Is that what I think it is?’ Donohue asked curiously.
‘This is a British army L88 hand grenade; it’s digitally fused and contains fifty
per-cent high explosive. What a piece of work don’t you think? To get the full use of
one of these modern masterpieces you need a TISS. These grenades were even used in
the Kafer war.’ Donohue stared in awe.
‘Don’t worry Tom, you can put your eyes back in your head now, they aren’t
operational…yet.’
He carefully placed the grenade back in it’s position and replaced the lid. He
removed the lid from the second crate.
‘What do you think of these then?’ Inside the crate lay fifteen
grenades, Elliot carefully picked one up as though it was a fragile antique.
‘Now these are a different bucket of dead eels.’ He held it out in front of him
and pretended to pull the pin.
‘This is a Pearl fragmentation hand grenade, also British made. It’s a lot more
straight forward than the L88; out comes the pin, release the handle and Kaboom.
That’s a few people blown to bits for your troubles.’
Donohue shook his head in disbelief; for once, he wasn’t as bored as he
expected to be.
‘Do you mean to tell me these actually work?’
‘They certainly do, I had eighteen, but I tested three up in Kielder Forest on
Thursday afternoon. The British Army describe these grenades as the world’s best.
Ruag Ammotec even provide these beauties for Nato Forces and other Armies around
the world.’
‘Where the hell did you get them from? And don’t say the fucking internet.’
‘I still have quite a few contacts in the army Tommy. You know what they
say…you can take somebody out of the army, but you can’t take the army out of
them.’
‘Well I must admit, I’ve never heard that one before.’
‘I’m not surprised, I just made it up.’ Elliot quipped as Donohue made for the
door.
‘Listen, what’s been happening between you and Dawn lately? She was pissed
off and upset earlier…Cath told me last night she was even thinking of leaving you,
now what’s been going on?’
‘Oh you know what women are like Tommy.’
‘No I don’t, why don’t you tell me.’ Donohue leaned against the wall.
‘She’s going to leave me every other week; sometimes I wish she’d just piss
off. Up until recently, I thought she’d just turned into a frigid bitch, but now I’m
convinced she’s fucking some other bloke…I’m thinking of going round there to sort
the prick out once and for all…I’ve a good mind to blow his fucking house up.’
‘Alan, what the hell are you going on about? How do you know she’s having
an affair…where’s your proof man?’
‘Because I’m not stupid, and how come you’re so concerned anyway?’
Donohue lit a cigarette.
‘I’m concerned because Dawn happens to be a friend of mine that’s why.
She’s a nice person and I don’t like to see her in the state she’s in.’
Elliot laughed loudly.
‘The woman is a fucking slut and she could do with a bloody good hiding.
You don’t know anything about it so I’d appreciate it if you kept right out of our
business.’
Donohue opened the steel door and stepped out into the cold night; he paused
and peered angrily under the garage door.
‘You’re pretty handy with your fists when it comes to women aren’t you Alan.
But let me tell you this…you so much as raise your hand to her again and you’ll have
me to answer to.’
‘Maybe she’s fucking you too. After all, she does like long-haired bastards.’
The comment froze Donohue to the spot for a brief moment.
‘I’m not even going to rise to that,’ he shouted over his shoulder before he
stormed back into the house.
Dawn and Cath were sitting on the couch in deep conversation when he rushed
into the living room.
‘Come on Cath, were going home; I’m sick of that prick of a brother of yours
already, and I’d rather try and stick my tongue up a donkey’s rectum than listen to any
more of his bollocks.’
‘What the hell are you talking about…what’s happened?’
Donohue grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
‘Tom…what’s the matter with you?’
‘As far as I’m concerned our couple of hours are up, now just get out to the
car.’
‘Are you going to tell us what the frigging hell this is all about or what?’
Donohue glared at her in frustration.
‘The bloke is totally deluded…he’s only accusing me of sleeping with
Dawn now.’ The colour suddenly drained from Dawn’s face. She got to her feet.
‘Wh…what’s he b…been saying?’
‘Why don’t you ask him yourself? He should be in shortly.’
Cath and her brother stood on the doorstep talking and making hand gestures
to each other while Donohue waited impatiently in the car. He wished he could hear
what they were saying. He also hoped that Elliot was only stabbing in the dark;
surely, he didn’t suspect anything.
The atmosphere at the dinner table earlier was dreadful; nobody really enjoyed
the meal (although it was superb). He hoped that Dawn would phone or text him
later.
When Cath climbed into the car, she looked understandably annoyed. She
turned the key in the ignition and pulled away.
‘You’re right Tom, he’s definitely lost the plot.’
‘Did you know he’s got two boxes of grenades in his garage? Most of them
are operational. Who does he think he is, fucking…Rambo?’
Cath turned to face him with a half-hearted grin.
‘Grenades, where the hell did he get them from?’
‘I don’t know, but he definitely didn’t buy them off bloody eBay that’s for
sure.’
‘Well if he wants to collect…grenades, then that’s his choice and besides,
you’re a fine one to talk; you have two guns in the house so what’s the big deal?’
Donohue was shocked.
‘How do you know I’ve got two guns?’
‘I’m not stupid; you could’ve found a better place than the top of the wardrobe
to hide a sawn-off shotgun and two boxes of shells…you know if we get raided you’ll
get sent down.’
‘Cath…I make a lot of enemies in the business I’m in, and those guns make
me feel safer when I’m in bed at night that’s the main thing.’
‘You own a second rate backstreet pub, not a chain of bloody jewellers.’
‘Don’t start tonight Cath; I’m really not in the bloody mood.’ They sat in
silence for the remainder of the short journey home.
16 -- A NICE CHOICE OF FATE
Donohue had been up for an hour; the time was 9:05am and Lenny Mason had
phoned earlier to say that he was setting off in twenty-minutes. Cath had only just
taken the kids to school.
The phone rang just as he was drinking from a bottle of Jameson. He’d
already taken a Valium to calm his nerves.
‘I swear to God, if that’s you Lenny, phoning to tell me the taxi’s broken
down and you’re going to be late, I’ll fucking kill you.’ He wrenched the phone from
its cradle.
‘Listen, if you’re in a fucking betting shop, me and you are well and truly
finished, you can bet your life on that…’ The voice on the other end wasn’t Mason’s;
it was the voice of Frank Hackett.

‘Now then now then my old son, that’s no way to speak to an old comrade,
and by the way, I didn’t know we were an item.’
‘Frank…is that you?’ There was silence for a few seconds.
‘I’m just ringing to make sure you’re not going to do anything stupid Tommy
boy. After all, we can’t go around disrespecting people can we?’
‘How did you get this number? And don’t say the phone book because I’m ex-
directory.’ Silence again.
‘Oh come on, you must know by now that I can get anything I want. Anyway
listen, I’ve had a word with Davey, and he said he wouldn’t mind dropping you both
off at the airport. He doesn’t have to do it because he’s supposed to be having a break
after the London trip but he was good enough to volunteer so…what do you reckon?’
‘Fucking hell Frank, everything’s arranged. I’m all packed and ready to go and
Lenny should be here soon…I thought you were him. I know your game; you just
want to make sure I get on that plane. Anyway smart arse, even if I do get to
Amsterdam what’s to stop me from selling the heroin once I get out there? There’s
customers abound in that shithole.’
‘I know you, Tommy old son, firstly you wouldn’t dare rip me off, and
secondly, I think deep down you truly respect me…we’ll just have to wait and see
won’t we? This is the ultimate test; it’ll either make a man or mockery of you.’
Donohue screwed his eyes shut as the laughter burst forth.
The familiar Guns n Roses ring tone made him turn towards the coffee table
abruptly. Maybe that was Lenny, he thought. He picked up his mobile and glanced at
the display. It was Dawn.
He glanced from one phone to the other trying to decide which was the most
important. He hung up the landline and answered his mobile.

‘Dawn…are you all right? He hasn’t touched you has he? I hate violence,
especially against women…if he’s hit you…’
‘Calm down, Tom, he went out about fifteen minutes after you left and I’ve
not seen him since; I hope the shit’s been run over by a train or something. God how I
hate the man. He’s forty-three in two months and you’d think he was fourteen the way
he goes on sometimes.’
He could tell by her voice that she was putting on an act of bravery and trying
to stifle her sobs.
‘Look, Tom, we have to do something about this, I’m hurting like bloody
crazy when I’m apart from you…I need you like I’ve never needed anything in my
life before…and I…and…’
Her voice suddenly broke into heart-rending sobs. He couldn’t understand
how their feelings had become stronger since…he dumped her.
‘Listen babe, I’ve got to fly out to Amsterdam this morning, but we’ll
definitely have a good talk when I get back I promise.’ He decided to tell her about
his trip after all
‘Why are you going to Amsterdam? You never said anything about a holiday.’
‘It’s not a holiday, I’m going with my mate Lenny it’s just a business thing; I
should be back by Friday and as I said we’ll have a proper talk then about
everything.’
‘Do you really mean that? Because on Sunday night you told me that…’
‘I know what I said, sweetheart, but my head has been in space for the last few
days. Christ, earlier I tried to pull my socks on over my frigging boots. Look, just sit
tight and wait till I get back.’
She blew her nose.

‘Tom, I really love you, you do know that don’t you?’ He let out a long sigh.
‘I know you do pet, but like I said, be patient and wait until the weekend.
Maybe I’ll book us into a nice plush hotel.’
‘You know what I wish Tom; I wish I was going somewhere overseas with
you, somewhere sunny and peaceful…somewhere we could live together happily ever
after and just forget about all this crap that’s in our lives.’
‘I know just how you feel babes but it’s not quite as straight forward as that is
it?’
‘I know Tom, but a girl can dream can’t she?’
The landline rang again.
‘Listen pet, I really have to go; my flight is half-ten which means I’ve got to
be at the airport before ten.’
‘Okay then Tom, but please… please contact me when you get back.’
‘Don’t worry lover, I will.’
He abruptly ended the conversation and reluctantly answered the landline.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing man? You can’t just hang up on me
like that.’ Hackett shouted.
‘Frank, the whole world doesn’t revolve around you…I’ve just had to answer
a very important call on my mobile.’
‘Now you listen to me, you prick, the single most important thing in your life
right now is the assignment I’ve set up for you and don’t you forget it.’
‘Well Frank, how am I supposed to forget it? At the end of the day, it’s my life
on the fucking line, not yours…now tell me what you want and be quick about it
because I’ve got a plane to catch.’
‘I’ve already told you, I’m offering you a lift to the airport. It’s not
compulsory; it’s entirely your choice so it’s make your mind up time.’
‘Look Hackett, let’s get one thing straight, me risking my life is something I
owe you (you even told me that yourself) so I’ll do this my way not yours. I’ll tell you
something else too; I’d rather crawl stark-bollock naked through a hundred-mile arctic
blizzard than accept a lift from you or any of your fucking goons. Now if you don’t
mind I’ve got things to do. I’ll see you on Friday.’ He hung up the phone.
He put the bottle of Jameson to his lips again, taking a hefty swig. The
doorbell rang as he replaced the lid. The hulking figure of Lenny Mason greeted him
when he opened the front door.
‘Thank Christ it’s you and not some other lunatic. Wait in the taxi I won’t be a
minute.’
He picked up his rucksack and retrieved the bottle of whiskey from the drinks
cabinet, stuffing it into the inside pocket of his leather Mac – he had a feeling that it
would come in handy for the journey. When he reached the taxi, he turned to look at
his home and wondered if he would ever see it again.
It was 9:45am when they reached the airport and Donohue’s nerves were
getting worse all the time. He was glad he’d decided to bring a bottle of Valium with
him.
Time seemed to stand still while they waited in the departure lounge;
Donohue’s fidgeting began to irritate Mason.
‘What the hell’s the matter with you man, have you got fleas or something?’
‘I hate to drop this on you Lenny but I hate planes.’
‘What are you on about? What’s wrong with flying?’
Donohue told him about the incident on the flight back from Portugal all those
years ago.
‘Don’t be so bloody soft; you’ve got more chance of crashing in a car than you
have in a plane.’
‘That’s because there’s more cars on the bloody roads you idiot. Anyway it
might just be the best thing that could happen if the plane does crash; at least then we
won’t end up doing a stretch in Holland for smuggling.’
‘I think you’ve been watching too many films, sunshine.’
Donohue suddenly got to his feet without responding and rushed unsteadily to
the toilet.
The effects of alcohol mixed with the tablets were now making his head spin;
each step he took seemed to be in slow motion. The voices and sounds all around him
seemed to be so near yet so distant; he felt as though he was on a distant plain far
from reality.
He entered the nearest cubicle (grateful that the toilets were empty) and
crouched over the toilet bowl trying to vomit but knew it was pointless, for he didn’t
even feel nauseas. He also knew that to be sick wouldn’t solve anything in the long
run. He had to board the plane in the next few minutes no matter what.
‘Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?’ The acoustics of his voice
bounced off the tiled walls back at him as though the words belonged to somebody
else.
He tore off a handful of toilet paper and took a large gulp of Jameson when he
heard the approaching footsteps. He recognised the gruff voice immediately.
‘Tom…Tom…are you all right mate? Come on or we’ll miss the plane, we’ve
only got a few minutes. You’d better get your act together because there’s no fucking
way on this earth that you’ll even be allowed on a bus in that state never mind a
twatting plane…and you stink like a fucking distillery. In fact, it’s all you seem to do
lately, are you sure you haven’t got a drink problem, mate?’ Donohue leaned against
the wall and let out a long sigh.
‘Well actually, Lenny my mate, at the moment I’ve got more problems than I
care to mention; so please don’t you add yourself to the list.’
‘I’m only concerned about you that’s all. I thought we were supposed to be in
this thing together. I volunteered to come on this trip with you because I’m your
friend so the least you can do is show me a bit more gratitude than this.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with me, but I’ll
tell you this much: we can’t get on that plane because the bastard will go down I’m
telling you and I’m not prepared to go through all that shit again, I just can’t…’
His eyes suddenly became wide orbs of bloodshot red and blue; he seemed to
glare through Mason’s very being. He slumped to the floor with a loud crash. Now it
was Mason’s turn to panic. He turned on the cold-water taps and soaked his friend’s
face, constantly turning his gaze towards the toilet door – luckily, it wasn’t summer
holiday season so passengers at the airport were quite scarce. He began to slap his
face.
‘Tom, will you get up or I swear I’m going home and I mean it.’
Donohue’s eyes flickered open and he sat upright. With one swift movement,
Mason pulled him to his feet.
‘Jesus I must have passed out or something, give me a few minutes while I
sort myself out.’
‘We haven’t got a few minutes. The plane has already landed so make sure
you’ve got your passport…you have brought your passport haven’t you?’ Donohue
used his tee shirt to wipe the water from his face.
‘Of course I’ve brought my passport; how stupid do you think I am?’
‘How come you have a passport if you’re shit scared of flying anyway?’
Donohue steadied himself, coughed up a generous amount of phlegm and spat into the
sink.
‘The reason I’ve got a passport is because about eighteen months ago I was
going to take Cath and the kids to Tenerife as a surprise but I bottled out before I
arranged any flights. That’s something I’ve just thought about too. Why did Hackett
automatically assume that I had a passport? If I had any sense I should’ve told him I
didn’t have one, but at the time I just never thought about it.’
Mason headed towards the door.
‘Come on or we’ll both end up swimming to bloody Amsterdam.’
Donohue’s heart hammered so fiercely that he thought it would explode.
Mason turned to look at his ghastly appearance worriedly; he noticed how his hands
shook uncontrollably as he pulled out his passport.
‘You’ll have to try and calm down mate; it only takes just over an hour to fly
out there you know,’ he whispered as they approached the back of the short queue.
After their passports had been checked they hurried through the gate
towards the plane; Donohue was almost sick when he imagined it sitting on the
tarmac like an immense monster. He couldn’t understand how something so huge and
heavy could actually lift off the ground.
‘Well if we don’t die in the crash, customs and excise will probably get us on
the way back, a nice choice of fate don’t you think Lenny?’ his voice was bitter.
He was glad that Mason preferred the window seat, for he had no desire to
view the outside world from this height. He took a swig of whiskey and noticed the
look of irritation on Mason’s face.
‘Listen Lenny, don’t take this the wrong way but I’m going to have to listen to
some sounds; maybe it’ll help to relax me.’
Donohue selected a CD from his rucksack; it was Waterloo Lily by Caravan
from 1972 – it was one of his favourite albums. It was forty-seven minutes and forty-
seven seconds long so it would last for most of the duration of the flight. He put his
headphones on.
17 -- MAYBE IN THE NEXT LIFE
JESMOND, TYNE & WEAR:
It wasn’t the first time Inspector Tony Johnson had noticed blood in his urine and it
wouldn’t be the last, but it was definitely getting worse. He flushed the toilet and
returned to the living room; the nagging, aching in his back and abdomen now
throbbed painfully, for he’d been up all night drinking and trying to gather his
thoughts. It was now 11:10am.
The mandatory visit to the doctors the previous Thursday had confirmed his
suspicions that his liver was practically finished too. He didn’t care though; his only
concern was to see the fall of his enemies. He decided to drink a couple of pints of
water to try and dilute the alcohol in his system. He glanced around at the disarray in
the kitchen as he turned on the cold-water tap; he let the water run fiercely for a few
seconds before filling a pint glass. He drank it down in four gulps and filled another.
He returned to the living room and sat in the armchair in front of the TV; the regional
news magazine had just started. He poured himself another whisky.
‘This should be a hilarious five fucking minutes.’ His voice was slurred and
groggy from the effects of ten cans of lager and two-thirds of a bottle of Bells he’d
consumed. The news was mostly about strikes, unemployment and the occasional
murders. He was about to change channels when something caught his attention – the
unmistakable drone of Superintendent Jack Thornton’s voice. There was a huge
gathering of protesters in the background chanting the words: ‘The justice system is a
joke, law and order is up in smoke, the justice system is a joke, law and order is up in
smoke.’ He recognised the correspondent interviewing Thornton; he couldn’t
remember his name but he always seemed to be in the thick of things.
‘Superintendent, would you care to comment on the violent crime in and
around Tyneside which has soared to a staggering seventy-per cent in the last two
years?’
Thornton cleared his throat.
‘These streets belong to the law-abiding citizens of this city; there is
absolutely no room for any sort of criminal activity whatsoever. Furthermore, I think
you’ll find that those figures only apply to trouble spots in certain areas and the
resources and manpower available to us is somewhat limited, but rest assured we will
strive to eliminate the criminal element…’ The correspondent interrupted him.
‘Would you also like to express your views on the recent outbreak of
organised crime related violence and the influx of drugs and firearms that have
plagued the city in recent years , and what about today’s demonstration?’
‘As I said, we will combat crime with every available means possible, and the
so-called peaceful demonstrators you can see are no more than common rabble-
rousers seeking an opportunity to wreak havoc. Fortunately, as you can see my
officers are already in the process of moving them on... we will tackle civil unrest
with any means necessary. Vigilantes will not be tolerated.’
The correspondent seemed perplexed by Thornton’s answers as he turned to
face the screen.
‘Well as you can see behind me, police are beginning to disperse the crowds
calling themselves P.L.A.P.I. “The People’s Lobby against Police Incompetence” and
as we’ve just heard…’ Johnson hurled an empty lager can towards the TV; it hit the
wall behind.
‘Nice fucking speech Thornton you arsehole, you should be on bastard stage.’
He reached for a cigarette and tried to light it but the flame wouldn’t ignite so
he hurled the lighter towards the TV also. He decided to use one of the hobs on the
electric cooker. He leaned against the sink unit and again glanced around at the
squalor around him wondering how his life had come to this. He’d been an inspector
for years and he was living like a pauper. All his life he was driven by integrity but all
he’d seemed to gain from it was a life in tatters – and soon inevitable death. If only he
could get his hands on a gun, going out in a blaze of glory would be a much better
option by far. It was rumoured that Donohue kept firearms at his pub as well as his
home, and why he hadn’t yet been subjected to a raid was a mystery. He’d lost count
of the amount of times he’d applied for a search warrant to no avail. The same
question always arose: on what grounds? A raid should be mandatory even if
suspected of owning a replica firearm, but not in this day and age, not in Britain…not
in good old Tyne and wear. Too much paperwork involved.
He returned to the living room again and lit another cigarette with the one he’d
almost finished. He wondered where the “The peoples Lobby against Police
Incompetence” had re-surfaced from. The name rang a bell; there had been a number
of arrests made a few months ago. He thought they had long since tired of their
pointless and shambolic crusades. After all, anybody could march around the streets
waving placards and banners about, chanting insults at authority but they’d never win
against the police.
He picked up a silver framed photo, which sat crookedly on top of an old
battered teak sideboard and stared at it despairingly. It was a picture of his wife and
his teenage son and daughter. He ran his trembling fingers over the glass, studying
every contour as though it was the only possession he had left.
‘I’m so sorry that I let you down. I’m so very sorry that I wasn’t a better
husband and father. Maybe in the next life…’ his words turned into sobs of anguish.
He clumsily fell back into his armchair still clutching the photo; his tears splashed the
glass as he struggled to study their faces smiling back up at him.
Kevin would have been twenty-three by now and Denise twenty-five.
Maureen, his wife, had taken the tragedy far worse than he had and at the time, he was
for some reason powerless to console his grieving wife – his grieving came far too
late. She accused him of not caring enough (whatever that meant), and after yet
another day of stupid drinking, he returned home from the pub to find her gone, and
he’d never seen or heard from her since.
The funeral was unimaginably harrowing but the worst was yet to come – the
court case. The pain of defeat was the most painful experience he’d ever had to
endure in his whole life and to say that he wouldn’t wish the same pain on anybody
else would be a blatant lie, for he could think of a certain few people who should
share the same agony.

He sat for a few more minutes thinking hard. He wiped his eyes with the back
of his sleeve before reaching for the bottle of Bells and taking a few gulps, gagging as
the amber liquid burned his throat. His cigarette had almost burned down to the filter;
he snatched it up quickly to light another one, to save him turning on the cooker
again. He got to his feet to return the photo to its rightful place on the sideboard and
an immediate sharp pain in his back caused him to double up; his face contorted into a
mask of agony, a white-hot iron claw tore at his insides. It was definitely getting
worse. He thought he should see his doctor about some form of painkillers after all.
He’d refused over the past few weeks because that meant he would have to stop
drinking, and he hated any type of drugs whatsoever but now it was getting to the
stage where he’d welcome any sort of substance to alleviate the pain.
He momentarily screwed his eyes tightly shut as he stumbled towards the
window. He peered through the grimy glass; the street was deserted save for a
suspicious silver or grey Ford Escort cruising slowly past (it was the third time he’d
seen it today) and he always had a bad feeling about Ford Escorts; especially this one.
It became stationary directly opposite him and the two occupants were staring in his
direction. The back window was open halfway, which he found unusual, given the
time of year and shocking cold weather.
He wiped the glass, leaning closer and allowing his eyes a moment to adjust to
the short distance across the street. It took him a while to realise why he couldn’t
quite make out any specific features on the faces of the two people, for they were
wearing balaclavas. It also took him a while to notice the object pointed towards him
held by the passenger in the back – it was an AK 47.
‘Sweet fucking Jesus,’ he screamed, diving to the floor a split-second before
the first lethal rounds shattered the window. He quickly crawled to the corner behind
the couch and lay face down as the onslaught ensued. Bullets shattered ornaments
(including his beloved framed photo).Wooden furniture splintered and buckled on
impact like balsa wood. The living room took most of the damage but the bakelite
magazine also pumped rounds, which ripped through the kitchen wall beyond,
destroying appliances (not that there were too many in the sparsely equipped kitchen),
but Johnson knew that he shouldn’t move an inch until the trigger-happy maniac’s
clip was empty whenever that would be; to him the hail of bullets was never ending.
He didn’t value his own life but he had to stay alive for a while; it was of the utmost
importance for the sake of his own sweet vengeance, which he’d soon wreak upon his
enemies. He knew it would be a tragic waste of his own life if he foolishly died at
such a turning point in his attitude.
Abruptly the gunfire ceased leaving behind an eerie silence. He wondered why
he couldn’t yet hear the screech of tyres and he began to get to his feet when more
rounds burst into the house. He couldn’t believe the boldness of these people – they
were actually using a fresh magazine. He dived back to the floor as a bullet missed his
face by an inch. This time the onslaught seemed to last even longer than the first one.
Holes appeared on every inch of the wall above the fireplace; the wall clock exploded
into hundreds of pieces as did the two framed John Constable prints either side of it.
The TV seemed to disintegrate and the stand upon which it sat buckled and crashed to
the floor, taking with it the remainder of the electrical appliance.
The gunfire ceased once again and this time he got to his feet and raced
towards the front door. He yanked it open in time to see the Escort speeding off
erratically. He ran down the garden path, stumbled through the gate and fell into
the road.
‘I know that was you Thornton and Hackett you mad fucking bastards. You’re
not getting away with this,’ he screamed after the vehicle, which was now barely
visible in the distance. By now, the neighbours were on their doorsteps, shocked at
what they’d witnessed in such a quiet neighbourhood.
18 -- FIVE COMAS AND THREE DEATHS
AMSTERDAM, HOLLAND:
‘Apparently the place should be along this street somewhere, because
according to this map it’s opposite the Heineken Brewery and there’s the brewery
right up ahead.’
Mason had his head buried in a map of the city, which he’d picked up at an
information tourist office at the central train station.
Donohue was amazed at how getting lost in one of his favourite albums made
the flight much more bearable, but he didn’t want to risk a return flight, so much to
his friend’s annoyance, he insisted on booking a ferry for Thursday morning. It had
been a mammoth taxi ride from the airport to the international ferry terminal, and the
driver hadn’t been overjoyed at accepting English currency.

The weather was surprisingly mild and the sun was shining, but had difficulty
in radiating the heat they would both welcome. Donohue spoke for the first time in the
last twenty-minutes and he was irritated and impatient.
‘We’ve been walking round in circles for miles and there’s still no sign of this
bloody hotel. What’s the name of this street anyway?’ He snatched the map from
Mason.
‘How the hell are you supposed to pronounce anything in this place? Where
are we exactly? You know it would have been much easier to get another taxi from
central station, at least the driver would’ve known where to go.’
‘And miss all this sightseeing. You should lighten up and relax a bit Tommy;
we’re not in England now you know.’ Mason pointed to the map.
‘Stadhouderskade is where we are at the moment.’
Donohue squinted at the dozens of seemingly nonsensical street names and
places. At that moment, a cyclist narrowly missed him, the rider swore at him in
Dutch as he whizzed past.
‘What’s his problem?’
‘Tommy you’re in the middle of a cycle lane man, so if I was you I’d step
back onto the pavement.’
‘Jesus, what kind of place is this, it wasn’t like this in Portugal. Everybody’s
rushing around like maniacs.’
Mason ignored his comments and looked behind him as he spoke.
‘That’s the place right behind you so you can put the map away now.’
Donohue turned around and glared up at the building and smiled with relief.
‘At last…for fuck’s sake Len, I though we’d never find it.’
‘Well we did, so let’s get checked in and get sorted out then we can go and
take in some of the sights and maybe get some dinner.’
‘We’re not here to take in the sights, we’re here to risk our lives remember,
and I don’t know how you can think about food at a time like this.’
Mason shoved him towards the entrance.
‘Just stop moaning and remember the number of the room we’re supposed to
be checking in to.’
The owner of the hotel was in his thirties. He was a little man with blonde hair
and he smiled all the time. He spoke excellent English.
‘We don’t get many visitors this time of year Sir, and every room is vacant so
you can take your pick, but I would definitely recommend…’
‘It’s all right, we already know which room we want,’ Mason interrupted.
The owner handed them the key.
‘Are you gentlemen here on business?’ He asked pleasantly.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ Donohue replied sarcastically under his breath.
Mason nudged him in the ribs while the owner was busy opening the register.
‘That’s right Sir, we’re here on a bit of business, and we’ll be checking out on
Thursday morning if that’s all right. Can you please tell us where the nearest place is
to change some of our currency?’
Donohue laughed inwardly at the way Mason could turn on his own brand of
charm when he needed to.
After the owner gave them directions and recommended various attractions
and restaurants, he led them up two flights of stairs to their room, which was situated
at the front of the building. It was a shabby average-sized room with basic
furnishings: two beds, a wardrobe, a dressing table, a chair, and an en suite shower
and bathroom, which was their only concern. According to the instructions, that’s
where the merchandise was hidden – beneath the bath.
When the owner had gone, they stared at each other for a long moment before
Donohue hurried into the bathroom followed closely by Mason. They both stood
transfixed by the bath before them.
‘What do you think?’ Donohue asked. Before waiting for a reply, he knelt
beside the bath and began to wrestle with the side panel. Mason pulled him away.
‘What the hell are you trying to do man?’ The irritation in Mason’s voice
didn’t faze him and he moved forward to continue, only to be pulled away again.
‘let’s wait until tomorrow night, we don’t want that amount of shit hanging
around the room. Besides, by the look of that we’re going to need a bloody
screwdriver to get the damn thing off. Let’s just get out of here and get a bite to eat
and something to drink; it’s after twelve and I could do with some refreshments.’
Donohue leaned against the wall, stroked his goatee and nodded in agreement.
‘Maybe you’re right but we’ll still have to check if the stuff’s still there later.
For all we know Hackett could be telling us a pack of lies.’
‘Oh come on, why would he lie about something like that? He bought the
plane tickets remember.’
Donohue took a swig from the whiskey bottle.
‘Because he’s a fucking lunatic that’s why. I don’t like this Lenny, I don’t like
this one little bit. For a start, why would four kilos be stashed under a bath in a sleazy
hotel in Amsterdam? Who stashed it and how long has it been there, weeks, months…
years? These are all the questions I should’ve asked Hackett, but at the time I just
didn’t think.’ He went back into the bedroom followed by Mason. He peered out of
the window at the busy city below.

‘How do we know this isn’t just a big set-up to drop us in the shite because we
threw some of his arseholes out of my pub on Friday? How do we know this place
hasn’t been renovated recently and the stuff is long gone by now?’ Mason sat on one
of the beds.
‘Well it’s pointless worrying about it now, and anyway, just take a look
around…it doesn’t look like it’s been modernised to me, the place is a shithole. Like I
said, let’s just hit the streets and get some Dutch money and courage sorted out, then
we can find a pub or restaurant or something and you can leave the whiskey behind
because there must be plenty of cold alcoholic drinks we can sink. I can’t think on an
empty stomach. What was the name of that restaurant the bloke downstairs
mentioned?’
‘I think he said it was called The Blue Dutchman or something, but I’d rather
go and find that Mexican place we passed earlier.’
‘Fair enough then, Mexican it is. You know me Tom; I’ll eat anything when
I’m hungry even if it’s still breathing.’
After they’d exchanged a sufficient amount of currency, they decided to get
something to eat. They walked around the same spot for over forty-five-minutes
searching for the restaurant, but to no avail. They stopped outside a curious looking
place where the food displayed in the window looked stomach churning. Almost
immediately, a shabby middle-aged man of Arabic appearance stepped from the
premises greeting them both as though it was the first human contact he’d had in a
month. Donohue suspected he reacted this way every time anybody showed the
slightest bit of interest – even if it was disguised disgust. He also noticed the damp
patches under his arms and the nauseating odour, which emanated from him.
‘What kind of food do you serve here?’ Mason asked reluctantly.
‘It’s Middle Eastern and very good indeed Sir, very good indeed. Why not
come in and sample our finest cuisine?’ He actually stepped aside to allow them entry
but they both stared at each other shaking their heads disbelievingly. Mason spoke
again.
‘Well actually we’re in a bit of a hurry at the moment but we’ll definitely be
back later.’
‘Very good Sir, you won’t regret it.’ Halfway across the road, Mason breathed
a sigh of relief when he caught sight of the Mexican restaurant a few doors away.
‘You weren’t serious about going back later were you?’ Donohue asked
incredulously.
‘Don’t be stupid Tom, I wouldn’t even feed Hackett’s dog that garbage, but
there’s no need to insult the man even if the place does need closing down.’
They hurried the few feet until they reached the Mexican restaurant. They
each ordered Tacos; Mason ordered three portions and finished what Donohue
couldn’t manage. The conversation throughout the meal was mundane.
‘Do you fancy another pint or should we just pay the bill and piss off?’ Mason
asked.
Donohue picked up his pint glass to finish the remains but changed his mind.
‘I think we should just go because we’ve got things to do, and anyway this
Heineken is crap…it tastes like bloody piss.’ They paid the bill and left the restaurant.
‘Right Lenny, I think we should look for a hardware shop and get a
screwdriver for that bath panel just to make sure the stuff is there.’
‘What’s the hurry? It’ll still be there tomorrow and the day after.’
Donohue persisted.
‘I think the sooner we have a look for ourselves the better, and don’t forget
we’re leaving the day after tomorrow so we can’t leave it till the last minute…come
on it’ll only take a few minutes; then we can check out the night life and have a
laugh.’
Mason sighed. He knew that to try and change his mind would be pointless.
After twenty-minutes, they came across a tool stall at Albert Cuypmarkt; It
was Amsterdam’s busiest and largest market. A CD stall fascinated Donohue. After
five-minutes, Mason became annoyed.
‘I’ve found what we need, are you going to buy anything or what?’
Donohue frowned and stroked his goatee before turning away from the stall.
‘I can’t be bothered…I haven’t heard of half of these and they seem to be
mostly bloody Golden Earring albums anyway, and I was never very keen on them.
Mind you, I’ve come across a few Focus albums but the only problem is I bought all
of them on eBay months ago.’
‘Tom man, let’s just get back and do what we’re supposed to do because I
thought you were in a hurry.’
Donohue rinsed two tumblers under the cold tap in the bathroom. He poured
each of them a generous measure of whiskey before taking off his coat. He used the
toilet seat as a makeshift chair and downed his drink in one. He was surprised to see
his friend do the same; maybe he was just as nervous. He poured two more measures
and stood the bottle on the edge of the sink. He spoke nervously.
‘You know that’s another thing that Hackett never even bothered to tell me.
He never mentioned what this package looks like or what it’s contained in, so we
really don’t know what the hell it is we’re looking for do we?’
‘I think when we find it we’ll know exactly what it is don’t you? Somehow I
doubt the package will be emblazoned with heroin in big red bloody letters.’
‘Well I suppose there’s only one way to find out,’ Donohue sighed as his
friend handed him one of the two Philips head screwdrivers purchased earlier. They
quickly set to work on the ten screws, which held the mahogany panel in place, each
of them sweating profusely with nerves and effort.
When the task was finally complete, they eased the panel from the bath and
leaned it against the wall. Donohue peered into the dark space.
I can’t see a fucking thing down here; we should’ve bought a torch when we
were at the market. I don’t know why we didn’t think of bringing the tools before we
came out here.’
‘With all the security at airports these days…don’t be bloody stupid Tom.
Why don’t you just put your hand inside and feel about; you’re bound to come across
something eventually.’ Donohue got to his feet and took a sip of whiskey before
lighting a Marlboro.
‘Christ Lenny, there could be anything under there. I don’t know what Dutch
spiders are like and I don’t really want to find out if you don’t mind; I’ve got a phobia
about the bloody things. We should’ve bought some gloves while we were at it. Why
don’t you have a look?’
Mason faced him with an expression mixed with irritation and amusement. His
right hand reluctantly felt around inside the space. After a few moments, he also got
to his feet wiping the sweat from his brow.
‘You’re right, I can’t see a fucking thing; give me your lighter a minute, that
might help to shed some light on the subject.’ Donohue handed him his Zippo and
once again he knelt, this time using the lighter to penetrate the darkness. After a
while, he got back to his feet shaking his head in defeat.
‘I hate to be the bearer of bad news Tom, but I can’t find anything down
there. Are you sure we’ve got the right room?’
Donohue handed him the instructions.
‘See for yourself.’
Mason scratched his head and looked puzzled.
‘Well it’s the right room and it’s the right hotel, but this says underneath the
bath; it doesn’t say exactly where underneath. For all we know the stuff could be
under the fucking floorboards underneath the bath.’ Their worried eyes met.
‘There’s only one thing for it…we’re going to have to move the bastard bath.’
Donohue threw his cigarette into the sink and held his head in his hands despairingly
as he slid down the wall.
‘I don’t fucking believe this, a five minute job is going to take more than five
centuries.’ He finished his drink and poured another before he stared up at his friend.
‘So what the hell do we do now? You can’t be serious about taking the
frigging bath out.’
Mason took a sip of his own drink, shaking his head as he stared down at the
bath in confusion. His next words came out in barely audible grunts.
‘It looks like we’re going to have to go and buy some more tools.’
Donohue’s hands locked together behind his head; he assumed a pathetic
foetal position and laughed loudly.
The market was less busy than earlier and most stalls were already closing
down.
The sun had lost most of its warmth and heavy dark clouds loomed above,
threatening rain, but thankfully the tool stall, which Mason sought, was still open.
He selected the tools he needed before the first raindrops began to fall; they
hurried back to the hotel, instinctively knowing that they couldn’t outrun the
oncoming downpour no matter how fast they jogged and they were drenched when
they entered their room.
‘None of us know the first thing about plumbing, Lenny; we could end up
flooding the whole fucking place.’
‘We don’t need to know anything about plumbing, the main thing to worry
about is making sure the water is turned off at the mains just in case, so stop moaning
and find the stopcock it should be in here somewhere.’
Almost immediately, Donohue located the stopcock behind the sink unit and
they set to work. After more than an hour of toil, they managed to remove the bath.
They stood breathless and exhausted, staring down at the space where the bath once
was.
‘What do we do now?’ Donohue asked, stroking his goatee. Mason stared at
him aghast.
‘Well obviously we’ve got to lift the bloody floorboards up…what else?’
‘But what the fuck do we do if we still can’t find the stuff?’
Mason ignored him and began to lever up the floorboards with a claw
hammer.
‘Christ Lenny, just look at the mess we’re making. Wrecking hotels went out
of fashion in the days of The Happy Mondays.’
Mason didn’t know whether his friend was being humorous or not; he didn’t
care, he just kept busy with the job until something caught his eye. He lifted four
brown packages from the gaping hole and handed them to Donohue one-by-one.
Neither spoke for a while as they stared at the contraband. Donohue eventually broke
the silence.
‘Great, now all we have to worry about is customs and excise. Why don’t we
open it up and re-package the stuff? It might be easier to shift that way.’
‘I wouldn’t bother tampering with it Tommy, you know what Hackett’s like,
he’ll want the stuff exactly how it is. What we’ve got to worry about now is getting
this bathroom back to the way it was before we do anything else.’
Donohue wiped his brow with a towel; despair once again creased his face.
‘We’re going to be at it well into the night at this rate. I want to get out of
here, smoke some weed, and forget about all this for a few hours. It’s already after
four man.’
Mason was already busy nailing the floorboards back in place when he
replied.
‘Well the sooner we fix this fucking bathroom back up the sooner we can get
out there…are you going to give me a hand or what?’
After almost two-hours they put the bathroom back together as best as they
could. The time was now 5:56pm and they decided to clean themselves up before
venturing back out onto the streets. Donohue picked up a coffee shop guide from the
empty reception as they left the building; the owner had been absent for hours.
The rain had stopped an hour earlier, and deep puddles dominated the streets;
more water ran down the sloping bridges only to deepen those puddles. The air smelt
and tasted crisp only to be occasionally intervened by the aroma of hops and barley
emanating from the nearby Heineken brewery. The December cold became engulfing
as they walked briskly.
‘Let’s just head towards the red-light district and see what we can find,’
Donohue said gleefully.
‘I hope you’re not thinking of shacking up with some dirty old prostitute for
the night, Tom, I mean it wouldn’t be fair on Cath or the kids would it?’
‘Come on man, what the hell do you take me for? I said I wanted a smoke not
a slut. Anyway, there’s things you don’t know about me and Cath.’
‘Oh forget about it, I might tell you about it later if I’m in the mood, and I
probably will be if the dope over here is as good as everybody says it is. What about
you big man? Are you going to participate or what? You might as well seeing as you
keep pointing out that we’re on some kind of…holiday. If you don’t try the local
weed, then you haven’t really been to Amsterdam have you?’ For once Donohue
sounded in high spirits. He pulled out a cigarette, stared at it for a moment and put it
back in the box, deciding he might as well wait for a real cigarette with a kick.
Everywhere seemed to look the same to him; each canal they crossed
resembled the last one almost identically: Lijnbaansgracht; Singelgracht;
Prinsengracht; Keizersgracht; Herengracht. The people intrigued him though; they
were different. He noticed all walks of life and some of the most beautiful women
he’d ever seen. He couldn’t believe how many different cultures lived in this one city
alone. Even with the influx of immigrants in recent years into the North East of
England, it could never compare to this. He was actually beginning to like it here.
They both couldn’t help but notice a tall gorgeous woman of Afro-Caribbean
appearance strutting towards them; she wore a purple leather cat suit, and long dark
straightened hair flowed behind her sleek broad shoulders helped by the gentle breeze.
The seductive sound of the animal-print stilettos slowed down as she approached. She
stopped dead in her tracks with hands on hips. Her glare eventually locked on to
Donohue.
‘You know son, you remind me of Eric Stoltz (when he had long hair of
course) in films such as Pulp Fiction and Rob Roy. By the way, do any of you
handsome guys want some fun tonight? I won’t rip you off and charge you the earth
like most of the darlings around here…honestly.’ It was a North American accent.
Mason moved towards her, laughing quietly before he spoke.
‘How big is it then?’
She backed off, confused.
‘I…I…beg your pardon Sir, I don’t quite dig the question…how big is what?’
Mason grabbed the gay transvestite by the genitals with his right hand and pulled his
wig off with his left.
‘How big is your cock you fucking freak?’ He let go as the transvestite’s eyes
widened in shock horror; he quickly ran across the bridge howling hysterically.
Donohue almost shouted after him but changed his mind when he saw Mason doubled
over with laughter; he still had the wig in his hand. He suddenly stood upright and
turned in the direction of the fleeing weirdo, who almost stumbled thanks to the
ridiculous stilettos. They could just about make out the words from the distressed
victim. He was screaming rape and theft of his hair. Donohue stroked his goatee as a
smile creased his lips.
‘My God Lenny, who…or what was that?’ Mason’s laughter had subsided
when he replied. He patted Donohue on the back.
‘Welcome to Amsterdam, Tommy boy.’ He burst out laughing again; he
turned and waved the wig in the air.
‘Oi weirdo, you’ve forgotten your brain. Can I keep it to see how you kind of
people tick?’ He tossed the wig into the canal; he held onto the rail, his laughter once
again subsiding. Donohue looked deep into the filthy water below and frowned.
‘You sound as if you’ve been here before.’
‘I’ve been here a few times before as a matter of fact, I’ve never lived here
though.’
Donohue became mystified.
‘So when the fuck was this? Why didn’t you mention anything before now?
Lenny, I knew you were a dark horse, but you could’ve told me instead of letting me
believe that you spend your time in most of the betting shops and on all the race
courses in Britain…not to mention fucking pool halls. I wouldn’t have thought you’d
have the time to piss off abroad when you’re too busy losing loads of money to one-
legged horses and blind pool sharks.’
Mason tried to change the subject by bringing up the transvestite again.
Donohue continued his abusive comments, but Mason abruptly overpowered his
whining voice.
‘Calm down and cheer up; what bloody difference does it make? Let’s just
find a place where we can chill out.’
When they reached the red light district, Donohue was once again in awe.
Naked women for sale pranced behind windows while the sellers stood in doorways.
Drug dealers (as bold as brass) selling cocaine, or Charlie as it was usually called by
these sleazy pushers. The mouth-watering aromas of garlic mingled with various
pungent spices filled the air around them.
Donohue heard the sound of the album 5 by Lenny Kravitz and ushered Mason
towards the source of the music, which came from a tiny coffeeshop aptly named
“Stones café” on Warmoesstraat. Donohue made straight for the toilet as they entered.
Mason was holding something that resembled a menu when Donohue returned
to the bar, and he was engrossed in whatever it was. He sat on a stool next to his
friend and glanced around the sparse area. Two middle-aged Scouse women sat at one
of the four tables that occupied the place. He turned to Mason.
‘What the hell is that?’ He snatched the menu from him, quickly scanned it
and laughed quietly.
‘You can’t be serious Lenny…a dope menu. Back home you’d be locked up
just for having a poster of something like this.’
The owner smiled down at him. He guessed her age to be around forty-plus,
her blonde hair hung untidily around her shoulders, reminding him of Martina
Navratilova during her reign of undefeated battles on the tennis courts. It took him
a few moments to realise that she was expecting him to make an order.
He couldn’t believe how easy it was to get stoned in a country just a few miles
away from England. He carefully but quickly scanned the menu, inspecting each
small bag attached to it. He didn’t want to smoke resin, he hated the stuff, for he knew
it was a manufactured product coloured with coffee. He opted for Northern Lights –
the weakest bag of green on the menu. He’d heard stories about the strength of the
dope in Amsterdam; he didn’t want to overdo it.
The full pint of lager in front of him was an indication that Mason had already
bought the drinks in his brief absence. He stared at the music system behind the bar
with respect.
‘Lenny, will you take a look at those bastard separates, only somebody who
appreciates music as much as me would have a set-up like that. Lenny Kravitz
deserves to be heard on it. Fuck me; I’m glad it’s not somebody like Kylie Monogue
or Britney Spears; that would be like pouring two-star petrol into a Rolls Royce if you
know what I mean.’

Mason had almost finished his drink.
‘What’s this business between you and Cath anyway?’ He asked, ordering
himself another pint while Donohue busied himself making a joint.
‘The thing is, I might as well come straight to the point…I’ve been seeing
somebody else for a while now and I don’t think me and Cath will last much
longer,’ Mason was shocked.
‘Virginity in Hell, you kept that quiet; I thought the two of you were solid. So
come on then, who’s this other one you’ve been seeing? Do I know her?’
‘You’ve met her a few times, she lives with Cath’s brother and he’s a real
fucking arsehole. I can’t understand how she fell for him in the first bloody place.’
Mason thought for a moment.
‘Wait a minute, do you mean that cunt who used to be in the army, the one
you mention every other week…the woman beater?’
‘Got it in one,’ he replied as lit the completed joint. He took a huge drag and
offered it to Mason, who inspected it for a moment before gently sucking on it.
‘So don’t you love Cath anymore or what then?’
‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t even know what love is or what the hell it
actually means. I mean think of the Howard Jones song What is love from 1984, it’s
true…what the hell is love? It’s only a stupid word that some prick made up
thousands of fucking years ago. Put it this way, I don’t even know if I like Cath, never
mind love her; all we seem to do these days is argue and it’s nobody’s fault. In the
restaurant the other night for instance, it kicked off well and truly; I ended up
storming out in the end and leaving her to pay the bill all because I told her about this
trip. She just can’t accept that I owe this maniac Hackett a big favour and I can’t back
out no matter what. I regretted my actions later, but by then it was too late for
apologies. Apart from that, contrary to what everybody seems to think…I don’t have
money to burn, let alone to even fucking spend these days…Lenny, my home is about
to be repossessed unless I pull five-grand from beneath my hat. Me and Cath are
trying to hold things together for the kids’ sake, but you can’t imagine how hard it is.’
Donohue took a swig of his drink followed by another long drag of the joint.
His hands shook erratically. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of
tranquillizers; he had trouble taking off the lid so Mason snatched it from him and
completed the process.
‘What the fuck are you doing with these? You shouldn’t be mixing them with
booze you idiot. What’re you trying to do, kill yourself?’
‘These are for my shattered nerves, and you know Lenny, I need them. I
probably would never have set foot on the bastard plane without the them.’
Mason finished his drink and ordered another for himself.
‘Look Tom, I’m curious about something.’
Donohue washed a Valium down with a swig of lager.
‘Come on then Lenny my old mate spit it out; get it off your chest.’
Mason sighed.
‘Forget about you and Cath for now. What is this big favour you owe Hackett?
I think I’ve got a right to know seeing as you dragged my arse over here in the first
place.’
Donohue rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, shaking
his head in defeat.
‘Okay, but not here, and by the way, you volunteered remember.’ He glanced
at the empty table previously occupied by the scouse women and was grateful that
they’d left a few minutes earlier. He ushered Mason towards the table; neither spoke
as they sat opposite each other.
Donohue stubbed out the joint for later, deciding the dope in this country
(even the weakest) was too much. The silence became louder when the CD ended and
it seemed an eternity before he spoke, coaxed by Mason’s wild inquisitive eyes,
which bore into him intently.
‘You’re not going to like this at all mate, I can promise you that.’
Mason leaned forward transfixed, as if he was about to receive a top-secret code
that would make him the wealthiest person in the universe. Donohue stared straight
ahead as though in a trance; he spoke slowly, his eyes avoiding Mason’s.
‘It happened about seven-years ago not long before I bought…The Lion’s
Den. I used to be a dealer for Hackett back then.’ He briefly glanced at Mason
expecting him to look shocked but the expression on his face hadn’t wavered.
‘I wasn’t just a small time pusher, I was selling all sorts of shit for big money,
and I was taking all the risks so I insisted on thirty per-cent profit.’ Mason scratched
his head and looked thoughtful.
‘So what kind of money are we talking about then?’
‘Big fucking money, and I mean boatloads of it; I was selling coke; crack;
hash; acid; heroin; ecstasy; speed; tranquillizers. You name it; I dealt it. I was making
a few thousand a week; how the fuck do you think I managed to buy a pub and a
house in a nice neighbourhood? Talk about profit from crime, I had it all. Expensive
watch for every night of the week…top of the range car…a beautiful Harley. Christ, I
had that much money, I started running out of things to buy. My otherwise arrogant
bank fell in love me; they started sending fucking courtesy letters every week.’ He re-
lit the joint; his gaze remained trance-like as though part of him had travelled back in
time. He blew a long streak of smoke towards the ceiling before he continued.
‘Well anyway, Hackett sent me to a party to offload some of the stuff, which
was just the usual kind of party you know, teenagers, and crappy rave music. I stayed
for an hour or so and had a few drinks. I made a few grand that night just on cocaine
and heroin alone and still had a shitload of the stuff left. The ecstasy pills were a
different story though; the whole lot went like hot cakes and that’s when the shit
really hit the fan.’ He was glad to hear the first few bars of Slow yourself down, the
opening track from the debut album by Camel, which he hadn’t heard in a few years.
He knew the owner had a good taste in music.
Mason got himself another drink, which didn’t take long as he was the only
customer at the bar. Donohue barely had the strength to lift his own drink because of
the fragile state he was in – he couldn’t believe the strength of the weakest dope he
was smoking. He had a few sips of his pint as Mason returned to the table.
‘Anyway Lenny, twenty-four people took ecstasy that night…there were five
comas and three deaths; the stuff was dodgy to say the least.’
Mason almost choked on his drink.
‘Are you kidding? Do you mean because of the tablets?’
Donohue stroked his goatee.
‘Two of the people who died were Kevin and Denise Johnson and do you
know who they were? They were Detective Inspector Tony Johnson’s two kids.’
Mason looked even more shocked.
‘You’re joking; I remember that being all over the news at the time. Do you
mean to tell me you never even got caught for it?’
‘I got caught for it all right; you don’t just walk away from something like
that. I got away with it though; no jail…nothing, not even so much as a fine. The
court case dragged on forever as usual.’

Neither spoke for a while as they each drained their glass. Mason went to the
bar again, this time bringing back a drink for Donohue, who was busy making another
joint even though the first one wasn’t yet finished. He placed the drinks on the table
and leaned closer.
‘Listen, what has all this got to do with Hackett? I know you were his dealer
but…’
‘Use your head Lenny, how the fuck do you think I was acquitted? Hackett
pulled quite a few strings. To this day, I don’t exactly know how he did it. He
probably paid the jury, or more likely intimidated them, and he had the best solicitor
money could buy…God, why do you think my name was never mentioned or my
picture publicised? What I do know is that I walked free from that courtroom because
of him; he kept me out of jail for manslaughter, so you see…that’s why I owe the fat
cunt big time.’
Donohue finished his drink and grimaced with the effort.
‘Come on; let’s go somewhere else because I’m starting to feel claustrophobic
in here. Jesus, I’ve been in bigger phone booths than this. Let’s see if we can find a
place that sells something different than bloody...Heineken.’ They both got unsteadily
to their feet.
When they stepped outside, the fresh air intoxicated them even more.
Donohue noticed how bleary-eyed his companion was; he hadn’t seen him like that in
a long time.
‘I don’t mean to sound like an arsehole but Tommy…did you ever use a
needle to get fucking high?’
Donohue’s eyes swept the ground before him as if searching for an escape
route from the question. He spun round, his eyes burned into his friend’s with the
utmost honesty.
‘There isn’t a drug I haven’t done in my life time; I’ve never used a needle
though…the sight of them makes me shudder, I’ve got a phobia about needles and the
thought of stabbing myself to feel good has never really appealed to me. Lenny
man…please give me some credit for once.’
19 -- ONE STUBBORN LADY
WINDERMERE, CUMBRIA. JULY 1984:
Bobby Smith wished he had a shotgun; he wanted to see somebody’s head explode
when he pulled both triggers simultaneously at point blank range. The scene in the
film Maniac when Tom Savini gets his head blown off was one of the best he’d ever
seen. He wondered how and where he could acquire such a firearm. He quickly
dismissed the idea and thought about the lethal machete underneath the passenger seat
of the stolen Range Rover; it would have to suffice for now. There should be plenty
of campers and hikers for him to slay this time of year.
He decided to slow down, for he didn’t want to attract attention at such a
crucial time in his life (especially with a dismembered corpse in the back of the
vehicle), and he knew that most serial killers were caught through traffic offences.
The police pulled Peter Sutcliffe over because of false number plates and unwittingly
saved a prostitute’s life in the process. Police stopped Randy Craft (the killer of over
sixty young men) for driving erratically – they found a body in his car. Even Ted
Bundy’s tan Volkswagen Beetle eventually gave him away.
The small and quaint town of Windermere was behind him now and the
blistering sun shone mercilessly through the windscreen causing rivers of sweat to run
down his disfigured face. He turned on the air-conditioning to alleviate the humidity
in the stifling confines of the car.
He now travelled south along the A592 and he had a magnificent view of Lake
Windermere to his right. He had to find a spot where he could set up his campsite, for
his right hand throbbed with the effort of holding the steering wheel. He’d been
driving for over three hours since he’d stolen his Dad’s Range Rover. He was glad his
Dad taught him all he knew about driving. Luckily, his parents were in the back
garden sunbathing and they’d foolishly left the front door open. It didn’t take him
long to locate the car keys.
The gruelling chore of lugging the body parts down the massive stairwell
proved the most exhausting. He didn’t risk using the lift for fear of being seen by
other tenants, and if the lift happened to break down (which it did quite frequently) his
days would have been well and truly numbered. He then had to return for his supplies.
His initial intention was to weigh the corpse down with bricks and dump it in
the River Tyne but he thought that might be too risky and besides, he felt like going
on a killing spree sometime this month anyway so he might as well dump it
somewhere far from home. She probably wouldn’t even be missed.

There was a thick wooded area ahead; it looked perfect. With great difficulty,
he eased the Range Rover along a beaten track until he reached a small clearing far
from prying eyes. It was an idyllic spot, as secluded as he could get. He glanced
through the windows at the trees and undergrowth all around him wondering how to
dispose of the bags of grisly remains. He’d flushed the entrails and organs down the
toilet the night before, and he’d boiled the head in a large stockpot until the flesh
turned to an oily, greasy sludge, which also went down the toilet – there were only
limbs, torso and skull left to contend with.
He quickly clambered from the Range Rover, deciding to venture a few
more feet into the woods and just dump the bags anywhere at will – the wildlife will
have a good feed over the next few days. He didn’t want to walk too far in case he got
lost, for the thick forest was impenetrable by the afternoon sun.
By the time he’d returned to the Range Rover it was 5:09pm so he decided to
have one of the eight tins of beans and sausages, which he’d remembered to bring
before he left his flat, followed by a few cans of cider and a joint while he considered
his next move. He tried to heat up the beans and sausages by holding his lighter
underneath the tin but it proved fruitless, and he didn’t want to waste fuel.
After he’d eaten, he downed three of the twenty-four cans of cider in quick
succession before lighting up one of the three ready-made joints. He sat
contemplating his Dad’s reaction when he discovered the disappearance of his
beloved Range Rover; he would definitely have reported it stolen by now.
‘Ha ha, the stupid fucking bastard loved his crappy car more than he did his
family, I hope the old cunt dies of skin cancer.’
He turned on the radio and smiled in disbelief and humour when he heard the
song on Radio 1. It was Killer on the loose by Thin Lizzy. He began to sing along to
the chorus.
‘There’s a killer on the loose again, a killer on the loose. There’s a killer on
the loose again, a lady-killer on the loose.’ He abruptly turned off the radio as it
reminded him of the time four years earlier when he was undergoing extensive
surgery for his injuries. He vividly remembered the song reaching number ten in the
charts in September 1980. It was always on the hospital radio headset, and every time
he heard it since, it reminded him of Frank Hackett.
He reached underneath the passenger seat and pulled out a leather bag, which
contained two items he would need: a white hood made from a pillowcase with two
eyeholes cut into it, and his machete. He climbed from the vehicle once more and
headed towards the edge of the woods. He glanced over his shoulder at the fading
Range Rover, and hoped he could find his way back.
Rays of sunshine beat down on him as he crept along the edge of a field,
keeping low. Every now and then, he would stop and peer over the cobbled perimeter
wall searching for potential victims along the country lane. Sheep looked on curiously
as he carried on his quest. He guessed he’d already covered a mile and he was
becoming increasingly impatient.
‘Where the fuck is everybody? It’s only just after six; there must be some
people out hiking somewhere.’ His distorted voice sounded muffled through his
makeshift mask. He decided to stop for a rest. Then he heard it – distant voices getting
closer. He saw that it was a couple, which he guessed to be in their thirties. She was
short with collar-length dark hair and appeared to be quite overweight, while he was
tall and balding. They seemed to be having an argument but he would soon put an end
to that. He waited, crouching low, his machete gripped tightly in his disfigured right
hand. He wondered if he should wait until they walked past; then try to sneak up
behind them or just confront them head on with the element of surprise – he decided
surprise was the key.
He vaulted over the wall as they drew level with him and rushed forward
screaming maniacally.
‘I used to have loads of fucking friends and family.’
They halted, and stood rooted to the spot as though their brains hadn’t yet registered
the imminent danger they were in. He drew back the heavy blade ready to strike at his
closest target. The woman screamed as her partner instinctively put up his left arm in
defence but the sharp blade cut through his bare wrist as though it was a rotting
branch. His hand flew through the air and his blood splashed onto the woman’s face
temporarily blinding her. The man merely glared at his bloodied stump, which spurted
crimson freely onto the gravel. He began to scream in pain and fear but Smith swung
the machete again in a downward arc, abruptly silencing him as he embedded the
thick razor-sharp blade deep into his skull almost splitting it in two.
By now, the woman was hysterical; her piercing screams permeated the still,
country air. Her raised hands shook at either side of her head; she was paralysed with
fear as she looked on in disbelief. The corpse slumped to the ground, and limbs
twitched in the throes of death.
The woman fled in sheer terror, her petrifying screams reaching such a
crescendo that it reminded Smith of 70’s scream queen, Marilyn Burns, the only
survivor from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
He chased after her, knowing that because of her weight, she wouldn’t be able
to outrun him and he was quickly closing the gap. She was only about ten-feet ahead
of him now. He raised his weapon high above his head ready to strike; then she
tripped and fell heavily. He couldn’t stop in time so he stumbled over her and landed
painfully by her side, the bloody machete falling from his grasp with a loud clank a
few feet away. The woman’s screams had now turned into animal-like growls as she
fought desperately for survival. She rolled on top of him, preventing him from
crawling any further towards the machete; his outstretched arm instinctively reached
behind him to try to dislodge her heavy bulk from his back. How come she’s so
fucking strong? He wondered, struggling frantically. His hand began to feel for her
face; she grabbed it and viciously bit into one of his remaining fingers. He cried out in
pain and anger and struggled even more desperately, managing to throw her from his
back but she held tightly onto him. Now she was on her back, her arms wrapped
around his chest in a crushing bear hug. She sounded and behaved like a wild animal
hanging on for all she was worth. He brought his elbows back but they wouldn’t
connect. He began to panic, barely able to believe what was happening. He threw his
head backwards with tremendous force, splintering her nose, causing her grip to
loosen. He rolled off her exhausted, and lay next to her now stunned body.
His breath came in short gasps, which mingled with her low moans as she lay
on her back, both hands nursing her broken, bloodied nose. He got to his hands and
knees and began to crawl towards the machete once more. When he reached it, he
inspected his injured finger and decided it wasn’t as serious as it felt – he didn’t know
what he would do if he lost another finger. He got to his feet and sucked on his
wound; then he heard a noise behind him. Before he could turn, the woman almost
knocked him off his feet as she tried to make another run for it but stumbled and fell
again, this time landing on her back. He kept his balance and rushed towards her,
ignoring the machete for now. He sat astride her, his hands gripped tightly around her
throat, squeezing hard until her eyes bulged in her head.
‘Why don’t you face facts you fat cunt, you’re going to fucking die so you
might as well die easily instead of dragging it out.’ He spat the words out in angry
distorted, muffled rasps. She grabbed his testicles in a vice-like grip and squeezed
until his hands instinctively let go of her neck and tried to prise her strong fingers
from between his legs. Christ, this bitch really wants to live, he thought through tears
of agony. He began to shout in pain not knowing what to do next. Then he had an
idea. With both hands, he gripped both sides of her head and plunged his thumbs deep
into her eyes. Her grip loosened immediately; she screamed in sheer agony; it was her
turn to try and prise his hands from her. He’d never heard such screams of pain before
in his life – not even in horror films. He could feel the moistness spilling onto his
hands from inside her eye sockets. She writhed and bucked ferociously beneath him
as he pulled out both her ruined eyes simultaneously, blood mixed with fluid poured
from the two holes. He wrenched her right eye free, and tossed it aside, letting the
other one dangle down the left side of her face by the cords to which it was attached.
He wiped his hands on her tee shirt before he reached for the machete, which lay only
inches away.
He’d revelled in her screams earlier but now the piercing shrill began to
irritate him. Luckily, her hands hovered above her face to allow him easier movement.
He gripped the machete in both hands and held it against her throat.
‘I used to have loads of fucking friends and family,’ he uttered before slowly
pushing the tip of the blade into her neck. Her screams turned into a sickening
gurgling sound as the blade penetrated deeper. Blood poured from her mouth and
squirted from the wound in her neck drenching his arms with the warm crimson
liquid. He felt metal grind against bone as the machete almost severed her spinal cord.
‘Friends and family,’ he said again before he finally pulled the weapon free
and got to his feet; the effort making his head spin. He could tell she’d messed herself
by the putrid stench which was strong in his nostrils.
‘Christ, you were one stubborn lady,’ he said breathlessly, staring down at the
twitching corpse with fascination. A deep pool of arterial blood spread outwards
creating a scarlet halo around her head. Sweat mixed with the blood of his prey
drenched him; the hood stuck to his face irritably. He wrenched it from his head,
savouring the gentle breeze on his distorted features before vaulting back over the
wall and retracing his steps along the field, silently thanking himself for
remembering to bring a change of clothes.

20 -- NOTHING PERSONAL
The biting wind hardly perturbed Superintendent Jack Thornton as he stepped from
his silver Rolls Royce Corniche and headed briskly towards the entrance to Frank’s
Palace. He can certainly pick his bloody meeting places, he thought bitterly as he
pushed through a few publicans and made his way towards the staircase. When he
reached Hackett’s office, two burly menacing looking men were about to search him
until his harsh voice stopped them.
‘Hackett is expecting me so I suggest the two of you keep your hands to
yourselves unless you want me to arrest you for assaulting a top-ranking police
officer,’ He barged through the door. His mood was already grim but when he saw
Skinner sat by the window, he became even more disappointed, for the horrible little
man repulsed him.
He rushed forward and began to speak but Hackett raised his right hand to
silence him.
‘Now then now then, good manners never hurt anybody, did they Jack old
son. Take a seat and I’ll be with you in just a minute.’
Thornton stopped in his tracks aghast at Hackett’s calm attitude – he was even
playing a game on his computer.
The remaining occupant was DS Will Harrison who was helping Hackett with
the game in which he was engrossed. He nodded in acknowledgement when he
glanced up from the screen.
Thornton automatically scanned the walls, purposely avoiding eye contact
with Skinner, and wondering why Hackett had him on his payroll.
‘Got the stupid little bastard at last,’ Hackett roared. Skinner leapt to his feet
and rushed over to Hackett’s desk.
‘Can I have a go now please, Frank? You said I could when you’ve completed
that mission.’ Hackett spun round in his seat angrily, his finger inches away from
Skinner’s bruised face.
‘No you can’t you skinny little prick; you can fuck off, sit down, and shut the
fuck up before I pull your teeth out with my bare hands.’ Skinner skulked back to his
chair by the window.
‘Aw Frank, you do this to me every time, you bully. You’re not even as hard
as you think you are…you’re a fucking coward.’
Hackett sprang to his feet, grabbed his chair and threw it towards Skinner,
which missed him by inches, but shattered one of the office windows inviting the
merciless cold inside.

‘What did you call me you fucking little arsehole?’ He picked up his chair
again and raised it high above his head but changed his mind at the last moment and
threw it violently to the floor, disfiguring the base beyond repair. He began to shout at
Skinner, who cowered pathetically.
‘You little cunt, the last time I let you loose on my computer, you promised
me a result…a victory. What did you do instead...you erased some very important
files that are paramount to my business arrangements. Do you realise that because of
your stupidity, I could’ve lost a shit load of gun contacts?’ Skinner raised his arms in
defence as Hackett pulled back his fist.
Thornton stood still, mesmerised by the unbelievable scene before him. He
almost shouted to attract Hackett’s attention but gratefully, Harrison beat him to it.
‘Come on Frankie boy, have we got business to discuss or what?’ His severe
Glaswegian accent boomed across the office. Hackett retrieved his wrecked chair and
returned to his desk, dragging Skinner by the scruff of his neck. He threw him
towards the door.
‘Now get out of here while I talk business with my colleagues.’
‘But Frank, where am I supposed to go?’
‘You’re supposed to be in Byker making a few collections. Now find Davey
and Ritchie and fuck off out of my sight.’
Skinner slammed the door behind him.
Hackett stared down at his irreparable chair and shook his head in annoyance
before he kicked it out of the way. He placed another one behind his desk and sank
into it, deciding to save his progress in the game.
‘This game’s so addictive. Grand Theft Auto, Vice City it’s called. Mind you,
I’ve gone through that many control pads in the past fortnight or so; Argos must think
I’ve got shares in the damn place. Close the blinds will you; it’s fucking freezing in
here now.’
Harrison busied himself with the vertical blinds at Hackett’s command.
‘Right then, Jack my old son; you wanted to see me about something. What
can I do for you?’
Thornton abruptly fell into the chair in front of him to face Hackett. He
exhaled loudly and stared at the ceiling wide-eyed for a moment before he eventually
focused on Hackett’s inquisitive face. He regarded him coldly, shaking his head
slowly as he spoke.
‘You’ve really overstepped the mark this time, Hackett…’
‘Steady on, Jack old son; try showing me some respect please. I would
appreciate a first name basis here thank you very much. I mean come
on…Jack old son.’
Thornton rose to his feet; his chair fell to the floor with a thud as he began to
pace the room in an agitated state.
‘Oh yes, this is all just a big joke in your eyes isn’t it Frank? You’re in the
clear like you always are and mugs like me have to take the fall for your extreme
foolishness.’
Thornton vigorously ran both hands through his grey hair and Hackett
regarded him with amusement. His ranting didn’t move him at all; he was used to
such outbursts from him.
‘Calm down and talk to me…how am I supposed to know what’s on your
mind if you don’t tell me? You’re acting as if your wife’s got AIDS or something
man. Now please…give me your problems.’ Hackett leaned back in his different
chair; his gold-laden fingers cradled the back of his head. The superintendent swung
round with contempt and anger in his eyes.
‘Listen to me you psychopath…or are you a sociopath, or both? At
the minute I can’t really decide.’ His face was now inches away from the back of
Hackett’s head.
‘My God man, what the hell happened in Jesmond? Did you have to turn the
place into a bloody war zone?’ He turned to Harrison as if seeking an appropriate
answer but he merely shrugged his shoulders and continued to stare into space.
‘What the hell’s going on Frank?’
‘Who the fuck pissed in your porridge this morning Jack? You wanted that
prick Johnson scared and I think by now he’ll be shitting himself,’ Hackett retorted.
‘Lord above Frank, we’re talking about machine guns. You were supposed to
talk to the man not empty two clips of live ammunition into his bloody house in broad
daylight you fool.’
Hackett lit a King Edward.
‘For your information Jack, I wasn’t even there so I’d appreciate it if you get
your facts straight.’
‘Come on, Frank, you know what I mean. You obviously sent a few of your
nutters round there to do the deed. Do you realise you’ve probably made the
situation worse...we’re talking about a dying man who has nothing left to lose…he
could finger us all.’
‘Calm down. There were no witnesses and the car was stolen so it’s more than
likely burnt out somewhere by now and anyway, what copper in his right mind would
even believe Johnson when he’s an alcoholic has-been? Now sit down, relax, and
have a drink before you have a heart attack.’
‘I don’t want a drink, and anyway I’m driving as you well know.’ Thornton
finally returned to his up-turned seat.
‘Frank, you’re taking too many risks these days? You’re making way too
many enemies and it’s bad for business. If Johnson goes around shooting his mouth
off, we’ve all had it and I won’t tolerate it…it’s totally unacceptable. Jesus, I could
lose my job.’
Harrison rose to his feet again and poured himself a large measure of whisky.
‘He’s right you know Frankie; your methods haven’t exactly been discreet of
late have they? I mean there’s already a massive murder hunt in London and Essex
because of your recent murderous rampage. How long do you think it’ll be before
they come up with some answers?’
Hackett also rose to his feet and began to pace the room.
‘You know, you should hear yourselves; you’re both worrying about fuck all.
Again, there were no witnesses…well no living ones anyway.’
Thornton also rose to his feet again as Harrison sat back down with his drink.
‘Frank, you killed five people in one day for God’s sake; you can’t just walk
away from that. This isn’t some kind of game you know. The police down there aren’t
like us, they won’t be bribed…’
‘Wait a minute, Jack, who said anything about…bribes? I merely pay you a
wage.’ Hackett glanced from each worried expression in turn before he continued.
‘I paid each of you two hundred grand last year and this is the gratitude I get.
If I were you, I’d stop moaning and start earning your fucking money.’
Thornton fell back into his seat exhausted. He perspired profusely despite the
cold draught from the broken window.
‘Johnson’s vanished without trace and nobody seems to know where the hell
he is. He disappeared before any officers arrived at the scene, and we need a
statement from him. If you must know, there were witnesses…a whole street full of
them; they gave a description of the car occupied by two males in balaclavas.’
Hackett spun round angrily.
‘Well that’s not much to go on is it? Like I said the car’s been blown to bits so
where’s the evidence?’
Harrison decided to interrupt.
‘There’s always evidence of some sort Frankie. I mean what about the gun you
used down south, have you still got it?’
‘I picked up all the spent shell casings; I blew their houses to Kingdom Come,
what more do you want?’
Thornton fidgeted agitatedly as he spoke.
‘You could have been seen in the area; the rounds you used are probably being
scrutinised by forensics as we speak. Jesus man, use your head you fool. I tell you
what, that mad bastard Johnson is more than likely on the warpath by now planning to
hunt us all down. Don’t you understand? He just doesn’t care. Well, I’m not hanging
around to find out what he’s up to, I’m going to Morecambe for a few days until this
thing blows over…if it blows over and it probably won’t, but I need some sea air to
clear my head.’
Hackett laughed loudly.
‘Morecambe, what the bloody hell are you going there for? What’s wrong
with Blackpool, your usual English west coast seaside retreat?’
‘I much prefer Morecambe to Blackpool Frank, it’s far more peaceful.’
‘It’s far too peaceful if you ask me Jack old son. At least Blackpool has a
golden mile; Morecambe only has a few silver yards.’
Thornton looked on in disbelief as Harrison laughed heartily.

‘I don’t believe this…when are you going to get it into your head? This is no
laughing matter Frank and get this if you’re interested…If you’re not careful, I’ll end
up spilling my guts to save my own skin and you’ll be dethroned before you can even
say...respect.’ Hackett sat back down and took a drag on his cigar. He leaned forward,
speaking quietly.
‘Don’t threaten me, Jack, because you’ll not only lose your job but you’ll go
down for a very long time and that’s just for starters.’ He briefly glanced towards
Harrison.
‘That goes for you too Will, because you see that security camera behind me
in the corner? Well that’s given me all the evidence I need to drop you both in the shit
and everybody else that’s ever discussed business in this office. I have videos dating
back years and they feature everybody, so you see, that’s my security. Don’t worry,
they’re locked away in the safe but they’d make interesting viewing in the wrong
hands don’t you think?’
The superintendent glanced at Harrison speechless before getting to his feet
and heading for the door. He was still lost for words when he slammed it behind him.
Harrison stared at Hackett who merely sat with his eyes fixed on the door.
‘Frankie, tell me it’s not true…you’re not serious are you? You always
said the bloody camera was out of order…you said the fucking thing was never even
turned on.’
Hackett’s gaze never left the door as he spoke.
‘Nothing personal, I’m just looking after my interests Will old son. Now if
you don’t mind, I’m going to sort that fucking window out.’ He picked up the phone.
21 -- NEVER GO TRAVELLING WITH
SOMEBODY WHO’S SCARED OF PLANES AND
BOATS
AMSTERDAM, HOLLAND:
‘Well this is it Lenny mate, it’s crunch time,’ Donohue said as he picked up his
rucksack containing the brown packages hidden underneath a couple of shirts.
It was 8:30 Thursday morning and they had fifty-minutes before boarding the
ferry. They’d wolfed down their full English breakfast at Mason’s insistence and now
Donohue tried to disguise his heartburn.
The taxi was already booked, so they stood on the pavement in front of the
hotel waiting impatiently.
‘I tell you what Lenny, if we get through this thing we’ll have to celebrate big
time; I’ll buy a crate of Champaign myself.’
The bravado in his voice didn’t convince his friend; he knew he was petrified
deep down and rightly so, for he also felt uneasy, but they couldn’t possibly back out
now. They were in way over their heads.
Donohue rummaged around in one of the compartments in his rucksack until
he found two more CDs by Caravan. Mason snatched one from his hand – it was If I
could do it all over again I’d do it all over you. Their second album from 1970.
‘What’s this rubbish you’ve been listening to for the past couple of days?’
‘They’re not rubbish, they happen to be the best progressive rock band ever,
and if you gave them a chance, they’d grow on you like a friendly tumour,’ Donohue
snatched the CD back as a black Mercedes pulled up alongside them; it was
their taxi.
‘I’ve been thinking, what if this ferry fucking sinks, I mean can you remember
the disasters involving doomed ferries over the last few decades…especially the one
in 87…’
‘Don’t even go there Tom, we’re getting on this bastard boat and that’s the
end of it.’
It didn’t take them as long as they’d expected to reach their destination and
when they did, Donohue’s nerves were in tatters again. Sweat ran down his face as
they approached customs. He stared down the average-sized queue and noticed with
horror that officials seemed to be searching through people’s luggage at random.
‘Fuck me Lenny, what if we’re unlucky enough to be stopped and searched?’

‘Come on, just keep calm will you or you’ll drop us both in the shit. You’re
acting too suspicious now just get a grip.’
Donohue pulled out his bottle of Valium and shook two tablets into his
trembling hand. He swallowed them both in succession without the aid of a drink as
he decided not to risk taking a swig from his bottle of whiskey. He was having
difficulty replacing the lid and the queue was shortening at an alarming rate. Mason
scowled and nudged him almost causing the bottle to fall from his shaking grasp.
‘Tommy man, will you put those bastard pills away?’ He growled under his
breath.
‘Good morning Sir, do you have anything to declare?’ Such simple and
innocent words sent a terrifying chill through Donohue’s whole being. It took him a
moment to realise that the woman directed the question at Mason, who calmly replied
with a quip.
‘Yeah…never go travelling with somebody who’s scared of planes and boats,’
he nodded towards Donohue; she looked at him and noticed the fear in his eyes; the
front of his long red hair was soaked with sweat. His heart hammered furiously in his
chest and he was almost convinced he’d drop dead on the spot at any moment. He had
difficulty in maintaining eye contact with her.
She suddenly smiled sympathetically. She had a dark short bob hairstyle and
large brown eyes. She looks like…Dawn, he thought.
‘Good morning Sir, do you have anything to declare?’ Those startling words
again.
‘Err…no, I err don’t I…’
She nodded towards him.
‘Can I have your passport please?’

Realisation hit him like a brick in the face.
‘Oh yes I…I’m sorry, I’m not used to all this…travelling malarkey.’ He
handed her his passport and when she stamped it, the sound filled him with relief,
which was short lived because her voice startled him again. His heart raced.
‘I wouldn’t worry about it too much Sir; the sea is quite calm for the moment.
Enjoy your journey.’ They both returned the smile.
‘Yes we will,’ they replied in unison. They stared at each other, beaming as
they quickened their steps through the tunnel. Donohue glanced over his shoulder at
the woman – she was busy searching somebody else’s luggage. He closed his eyes
tightly for a moment, hardly able to contain the relief he felt. It’s nearly over, he
thought.
Mason sat reading the horse racing pages in the Daily Mirror with his back to
the window, while Donohue stared at the sea, mesmerised by the patterns and
contours of the grey water. The only other people to occupy the bar area were a group
of five Japanese businessmen speaking loudly in their native tongue, and a young
couple in a corner away from earshot. Donohue slowly turned to face his table and
finished the remainder of his second pint of Heineken. He lit a Marlboro, much to the
disgust of the suited Japanese. They abruptly left their table talking even louder as
they disappeared from view.
‘Hey Lenny, maybe they’re Yakuza and they’ve gone to call Hackett. Let’s
face it, he has contacts in just about every gang in the world.’ The slurred words made
Mason glance from behind his paper, he noticed how absolutely wrecked his friend
looked.
‘Fucking hell Tommy, how many of those bloody pills have you had? You
look like a zombie and you’re acting like you’re from fucking Mars.’
Donohue suddenly laughed loudly and took a drag on his cigarette.
‘Don’t worry, I’ve only had two since I got up. I still feel like Max Payne on
bullet time though.’
‘Who the fuck’s Max Payne? Tommy what the hell are you going on about?’
‘Oh he’s just a character from a Playstation2 game that’s all, nothing to worry
about Lenny mate…we’ve almost done it…we’ve almost fucking done it.’
Mason folded his paper and put it to one side. He sighed, shaking his head
slowly.
‘Listen carefully, we’ve only made it when we’re in Hackett’s office.’
He finished his third pint and made his way to the bar for another; he turned
to his friend.
‘Do you want anything else?’
Donohue shook his head during mid-yawn before turning towards the window
again. He didn’t want anything else to do drink because he began to feel nauseous. He
knew it wasn’t caused by pills and alcohol but by something else, which he couldn’t
quite figure out. They’d only been travelling for three hours, but to him it seemed as
though it was already midnight. The dull sunshine outside told him otherwise though.
He noticed the ripples in the sea were huge compared to the last time he stared out of
the window. He got to his feet swaying unsteadily. He grabbed the table in front of
him tightly, staring straight ahead.
He suddenly lunged forward, heading aimlessly towards the toilet, which was
at the other side of the bar. He clamped his right hand over his mouth to hold in the
gush of vomit that had welled up in his throat. When he reached the first cubicle, he
barely had time to reach the toilet bowl as the morning’s fried breakfast erupted
violently from his mouth, splashing the porcelain and the walls at either side. His eyes
stung, and the back of his throat was in flames. He remained on his knees for a couple
of minutes before flushing the toilet and staggering to the small sink, holding on to the
wall for support. He splashed as much water onto his face as he could.
Mason hurried into the toilet.
‘Are you okay mate?’
Donohue tried to straighten up but a wave of nausea swept over him again so
he slumped facedown to the floor.
‘No I’m not okay, I think I’m dying and I can’t walk. Every time I try and
stand up, I get these fucking awful dizzy spells.’
Mason laughed quietly.
‘I don’t believe this, you’re shit scared of flying so we end up on a ferry, and
now it turns out that you’re fucking seasick…I just can’t win can I?’
Donohue mumbled something inaudible.
‘Come on, Tom, you can’t stay there forever. You need to get to your cabin
and lie down for a while. The sea isn’t even all that rough; Christ knows what you’d
be like if it was.’
Donohue shifted position and began crawling slowly to the door on all fours,
moaning like an injured animal. Mason gripped both his arms and pulled him to his
feet.
‘I’m…all right I…I think. Just give me a minute and I’ll be right with you.’
He wiped his lips with a few sheets of toilet paper and stumbled to the door ahead of
Mason.
‘Are you sure you’re all right Tom? You look like a fucking bag of shite.’
‘You’re right, I think I should lie down for a bit.’

Mason helped him back to his cabin.
‘When were you last on a boat then?’ Mason asked when they reached the
cabin. Donohue unlocked the door and lay on his bunk.
‘When I was about nine or something, I went fishing in Seaham with my step
dad Cyril. It was a day to remember, believe me. The boat sprang a leak and all we
had was a tiny plastic cup each to bail out. I tell you what; I thought we were going to
be fish food for sure. We were miles off the coast and there was more seawater
coming in the boat than we were bailing out. Anyway, luckily for us the coastguard
was passing by and rescued us just in time.’
Mason stood in the doorway grinning.
‘Did you catch anything then?’
Donohue placed his hands behind his head and cleared his throat.
‘Well as it happens, we caught a dead fucking crab and that was by accident.’
Mason laughed.
‘What happened to this Cyril? I didn’t even know you had a step dad.’
‘A few weeks later the stupid twat drowned. He took the same boat out again
can you believe it? The bastard gobshite was as good at fishing as you are at
gambling.’
Mason glanced at his watch.
‘All right smartarse. Anyway, I’m going back to the bar for a bit and then I
might get something to eat. You just take it easy and I’ll see you later.’ Then he was
gone.
Donohue turned onto his side realising that the nauseous feeling dissipated if
he stayed off his feet, but he couldn’t lie down for thirteen hours. He needed
something to occupy his mind because they were due to arrive at the Royal Keys ferry
port about 1:30pm tomorrow.
He stared through the porthole contemplating sleep, but knew he would wake
up mid afternoon if he slept – then what? He wished he had something interesting to
read but he knew that would be pointless because the pages would be a blur, and he
wouldn’t be able to concentrate.
He swung his legs off the bunk and sat upright; the dizziness struck him
immediately. He held his head in his hands.
‘Fucking hell man, why do I have to feel like this?’ He groaned before
resuming his lying position, lighting a Marlboro and using the carpet as an ashtray.
He’d worry about the mess later.
He knew the next few hours were going to be the longest of his whole life.
They had to get the stuff through customs when they reached England (the final
hurdle) before the nightmare would well and truly be over. Then there was Dawn to
consider, but she was more like a pleasant dream with dangerous overtones. He
suddenly remembered promising to tell Cath about the reason for this trip and wished
he didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep; she would leave him for sure if she knew
the truth – but would that be such a bad thing? Maybe then, Dawn could move in…he
dismissed the thought as quickly as it entered his head. He closed his eyes…………..
It was a large car driven by a faceless man. Donohue sat in the back wedged between
two burly official looking men who were also faceless. There didn’t seem to be
anything outside, just snow…so much snow. There were no buildings, no trees, no
signs…nothing, only a sharp whiteness contrasting with the blackness of the night
sky. Yet, the sun shone unorthodoxly brightly, which made the atmosphere all the
more sinister....
Donohue’s eyes snapped open; he abruptly sat upright on his bunk drenched in cold
sweat. He stared at the ash-covered floor for a moment before covering his face with
his hands, trying to dissolve the terrifying images from his awful dream.
‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I refuse to believe this.’ He glanced at his watch and
noticed he’d only been asleep for twenty-minutes. He got to his feet and rushed to the
door but the dizziness overcame him again so he lurched to the small sink in the
corner. He gripped it with both hands trying to throw up but only a small amount of
bile spewed forth, scorching the back of his throat.
The banging on the door startled him. He almost fell onto his back.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s just me, Lenny.’
He staggered to the door and opened it.
‘Christ Tom, you look like shit; are you okay?’
Donohue sat back on his bunk.
‘No I’m not okay and I feel like shit. I’ve just had the most weird dream…
again…something just doesn’t feel right about all this.’
‘What are you on about man?’
Donohue ran his hands through his matted hair.
‘Maybe we should just leave the stuff here or better still, dump it in the sea
because I’ve got a feeling it’s going to cause no end of trouble and I don’t want to be
responsible for anybody else’s…I can’t go through that shit again...I really can’t.’
Mason closed the door and rushed inside.
‘What’s the fucking matter with you? Do you really want to back out now
when we’ve come this far? You’re talking about Hackett’s property, you can’t just
leave it here, you stupid bastard.’
Donohue glared at his friend.
‘Lenny, I’m scared…You know…I’ve been trying so hard to get my life back
on track, but I keep getting fucking…derailed. It’s like every time I try and do
something good, I make a total fucking disaster of everything. All of a sudden,
these…ghosts or whatever they bloody are keep haunting me and saying that I should
be feeling guilty about…I don’t know…Johnson’s kids. Christ, I fucking do all the
time anyway.’ He finally cracked and began to sob. His friend sat on the bunk to
comfort him.
‘Come on Tom son, we’re almost home free; then we can go back to our
ordinary lives…don’t crack up on me now mate, not when we’re this close. Just think,
when this is sorted, you can choose between Cath and…that other lass.’
Donohue wiped his eyes after a few moments.
‘That other lass is called Dawn actually, and she loves me. Anyway, how the
fuck do you stay so calm when we could be doomed in the next few hours?’
‘Tom, I’m here to watch your back you stupid bastard, and sometimes it’s
fucking hard I can tell you.’
‘You’re a good mate Lenny…one of the only people I trust at the minute.
What’re you going to do until we get there?’
‘Well actually I’m about to go to the restaurant and I thought you might want
something to eat.’
Donohue twisted his face in disgust.
‘You must be kidding; I couldn’t eat a thing. I tell you what; I can’t stay stuck
in this room for another twelve-and-a-half hours. I can’t stand, I can’t eat, and I can’t
even sleep because of the dreams. Christ, this cabin is like a prison cell on springs and
to cap it all, I’m fucking claustrophobic.’
Mason hurried to the door, shaking his head.
‘I don’t believe this, is there anything you don’t have a phobia about?’
Donohue noticed how his friend’s face was flushed with anger when he turned in the
doorway.
‘I tell you what Tom; you better lay off those bastard pills because they’re
turning you into a fucking freak.’ Mason stormed out, slamming the door harshly.
22 -- THERE’S NO TIME LIKE THE PRESENT
NORTH SHIELDS, TYNE & WEAR:
He we go again, Donohue thought despairingly when they approached the back of the
long queue, which was rapidly shortening (even quicker than the queue the previous
day) as the customs officials didn’t seem to be carrying out random checks this time.
He breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes tightly for a moment.
‘Well this is it Lenny mate, it’s make or break time. Listen, you’ve spent some
time inside…what’s it like?’
Mason wasn’t sure whether or not his sarcasm was the result of nervousness,
but he noticed a streak of sweat running down his face.
‘Tommy, just try and look natural. If we are arrested for anything, it’ll be for
your personal hygiene…you fucking stink. I don’t know why you even bothered to
bring a change of clothes, you’ve been in the same gear since Tuesday morning, and
when did you last have a shower?’
‘Thanks a lot mate, that’s a huge boost to my confidence; I really needed to
know something like that now.’
Donohue couldn’t believe it; they were actually walking through customs
without so much as a glance from any officials whatsoever. Surely this can’t be right.
When they’d put enough distance between themselves and the checkout point,
Donohue glanced over his shoulder in bewilderment.
‘Did you see that? It’s like we’re invisible. They never even looked at us…
something must be wrong…’
‘Why don’t you just go back and declare everything and empty your bag if it
makes you feel better. Just look straight ahead, keep walking, and keep your voice
down.’
When they eventually stepped out into the open, it was colder than ever and
Donohue was grateful for his double-breasted leather overcoat, which he buttoned up
to his neck in haste. He lit a cigarette and the fierce wind almost prevented him from
doing so. He took a long drag, barely able to comprehend that the nightmare was
finally over; he could hardly believe they’d got away with it. They stared at each other
for what seemed like an eternity before simultaneously punching their fists skywards
and shouting for joy. A few passers-by looked on perplexed as their ecstatic ranting
continued for another minute.
‘Calm down, the last thing we want now is to attract attention,’ Mason said
cautiously. Donohue was about to hail a taxi when his mobile rang. He quickly
answered it; it was Frank Hackett.

‘Wha-hey Tommy my old son, so you made it back in one piece then?’
‘How the hell do you know if I’m back in England or not?’ There was a pause
before Hackett continued.
‘I told you before old son, nothing goes on anywhere without my knowledge.
Besides, I had a strong feeling that you’d choose the ferry instead of flying back
because of that crap you told me about being shit scared of planes. I checked all the
possible departure times and knew that any later than the one you’ve just stepped
off…you would’ve been late for sure.’
‘What time do you want me over there?’
‘There’s no time like the present.’
Hackett hung up leaving Donohue to stare at his mobile for a moment before
returning it to his pocket. Mason knew he wore a worried expression even though he
couldn’t see his face through his long, thick windswept greasy hair.
‘I’ve just had the worst fucking thought ever.’
‘If you’re going to start all that paranoia shite again, Tom, you can go on your
own because I’ve…’
‘No listen…maybe this isn’t over yet at all, what if Hackett wants me to sell
the stuff on the streets for him? Shit, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.’
Mason noticed the hysteria in his voice.
‘Come off it Tom, that’s what I mean, there you go again…worrying about
nothing. You’ve kept your side of the bargain so surely he’ll stick to his word.
Anyway, he keeps banging on about trust and respect morning noon and night so why
don’t we just get over there and see what he says?’
Donohue couldn’t be bothered to argue.
‘Fair enough, but to be honest I’d rather sit in a field and listen to a flock of
sheep farting out of tune than hear any more of his bullshit. Let’s just get a taxi and
get it over and done with because it’s fucking freezing standing around here.’
They flagged down the first taxi that appeared and stated their destination.
‘How the hell did Hackett know your mobile number anyway?’
Donohue yawned.
‘I haven’t the slightest idea and I don’t really give a damn to tell you the truth,
but you know what he’s like, if he wants to know about something, then he’ll find out
about it. When this is all over, one of the first things I’ll be doing is getting myself a
new phone.’
23 -- THERE ARE LINES THAT SHOULDN’T BE
CROSSED
WHITLEY BAY, TYNE & WEAR:
After they paid their fare, the taxi sped off, leaving them to stare up at the building
before turning to each other with a look of apprehension mixed with semi-relief in
their eyes.
‘It’s nearly a week since I was here, only I don’t have a gun this time,’
Donohue remarked.
‘You came to see Frank Hackett…carrying a gun?’ His friend asked
incredulously as Donohue made his way to the side entrance.

‘Don’t worry; I left it outside behind the bins. Anyway let’s move before we
freeze our bollocks off,’ he shouted over his shoulder to make himself heard
above the wind.
The same burly bald man with the high-pitched voice opened the door. He
half-heartedly frisked them; then they made their way up the wooden staircase
towards Hackett’s office. Donohue was about to knock, but paused with his right arm
raised, listening intently. They heard laughter and Donohue was sure that he heard his
name mentioned more than once. He turned to Mason annoyed.
‘It seems I’m the butt of their stupid fucking jokes by the sound of things in
there,’ he said through clenched teeth before he eventually entered without knocking.
‘Wha-hey, speak of the devil, we were just talking about you Tom old son,’
Hackett bellowed. He sat behind his desk dressed in an immaculate grey Versace suit.
‘You haven’t been overdoing it with the hash while you were over there have
you my old son?’
Donohue ignored the question and slumped into the chair opposite him; he
drummed on the desk impatiently. As well as Hackett, the same three people occupied
the office as the last time: DS Will Harrison, Davey Dawson, and Johnny Skinner.
There were also two youths clad in sportswear and hooded tops that he recognised
immediately – one had received a battering from Mason (deservedly so) the previous
Friday afternoon. He sported two black eyes and a broken nose. The other was the one
who never moved from his chair. They glared at Mason with contempt, who stood
with his back against the wall glaring back unperturbed.
‘You two gentlemen remember Les and Chris don’t you?’ Hackett asked
gesturing towards the two youths.
‘How could I forget those pricks, where’s the other one by the way?’ Donohue
spat back. Hackett lit a King Edward.
‘Well Tommy old son, he still has a broken face…you see that’s what happens
when you take the wrong end of a pool cue over your head. Anyway, let’s press on,
did everything go okay? How are you?’
‘Well I’m above ground and I’m still breathing.’
‘Well I must say you don’t look okay. In fact, you look like a tramp and Jesus,
you stink like you could do with a bloody good bath,’ There was silence for a moment
before the office was filled with laughter – Donohue and Mason didn’t see the funny
side though. When the laughter subsided, Harrison decided to speak.
‘The most important thing is, was it a wasted journey or not?’ The fury in
Donohue’s eyes was impossible to disguise when he glared at the Detective.
‘Listen to me, you Scottish cunt; you’re about as important as a woodworm
infested chair leg, and you’re the worse kind of villain there is because you’re
supposed to be a copper, so what you doing here with these fucking idiots?’
Harrison’s eyes burned into him and there was a long eerie quiet before he
retaliated.
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? We made a deal and…’
‘Made a deal, you couldn’t make a bed in a fucking dolls’ house, you bent
bastard. The only reason I went through with this farce is because I owe Hackett a
favour not you.’ By this time, Donohue had risen from his seat. Hackett rolled his
eyes in annoyance.
‘Fucking shut it the pair of you before I bang your heads together. If you want
to argue about old grudges, do it in your own time…not mine. Tommy, sit down, have
a drink, and relax, before I batter the pair of you. This isn’t the fucking school
playground you know.’ Hackett poured himself a measure of Dalwhinnie before

passing the bottle to Donohue who declined. He was about to ask the crucial question
when Dawson beat him to it.
‘The main thing is Tommy…did you bring the merchandise with you?’
Donohue reached down and unzipped his rucksack. He pulled out the four
brown packages and slammed them onto the desk. The two youths and Skinner rose
from their chairs abruptly, wide-eyed and excited. Even Harrison and Dawson stared
at the packages as though they were the crown jewels. Donohue sniggered to himself
as he noticed the pound signs in their eyes. Hackett seemed to be the only one who
wasn’t captivated by the contraband in front of him; he merely sipped his drink and
toyed with his cigar. The silence seemed to last forever until Donohue broke it.
‘Well if you don’t mind, Frank, I’ve got things to do and people to see so I’ll
be off.’ He headed for the door.
‘Sit back down, I haven’t finished with you yet,’ Hackett ordered irritably,
clicking his fingers to one of the youths.
‘Give me your knife a minute will you, Les.’ The youth handed Hackett a
switchblade, which he snatched eagerly and began to cut open one of the packages.
He carefully tore off the brown packaging and tossed it to one side. He repeated the
process with the remaining packages while his five associates inched ever closer
galvanized by his actions.
‘Back off the lot of you, I’m not performing a fucking card trick you know,’
he shouted over his shoulder.
When he’d ripped off the last of the brown paper, he screwed it up in his fist
and dropped it into the waste paper basket under his desk before handing the knife
back to the youth. Donohue stared at the packages in confusion – they were four bags
of Silver Spoon granulated white sugar. He stroked his beard, wondering why they’d
been packaged in brown paper to hide the already expert disguise anyway. Hackett
handed one of the bags to Donohue.
‘I’ll let you do the honours if you don’t mind, Tom old son.’ Donohue turned
to face Mason who hadn’t moved – he still stood with his back against the wall by the
door. Donohue reluctantly took the bag, studying it for a moment as he spoke.
‘Listen carefully Frank, if you think I’m getting back into dealing shit for you
again you’ve got another thing coming, I’m telling you right now.’
‘Aw come on old son, do you honestly think that I would even consider
having you as one of my pushers after the last disaster?’
‘Come off it Frank, I wouldn’t put anything past you. I can see through this
shite like looking through an invisible window, I mean…why else am I still here
then? You’ve got your shit, and believe me, I’ve been to hell and back to get it so if
you don’t mind, me and Lenny are going back to Newcastle because now you and me
are even…okay?’ He retrieved his rucksack from the desk and headed for the door
again. Hackett’s explosive voice stopped him in his tracks.
‘Sit back down before I rip your fucking heart out of your arsehole.’
Donohue snatched one of the bags and tore it open in a frenzy; white granules
showered the desk. His expression changed from fury to confusion when he dipped
his forefinger into the open bag and put it to his lips.
‘This isn’t smack at all; it’s fucking sugar; what the hell’s going on?’
Hackett’s sudden raucous laughter filled the office – nobody else followed suit this
time and Donohue realised that once again, the joke was on him.
When the laughter ceased, Hackett’s expression became serious. He cleared
his throat and handed Donohue the whisky bottle.

‘I suggest you have a drink because you’re going to need it.’
‘I’ve already told you I don’t want a poxy drink, I just want to know what’s
going on, and I want to know now.’
Hackett sighed.
‘Well let me spell it out for you Tom, you’re right, it’s not heroin at all, it’s
sugar.’
‘Wait a minute…you’re telling me you sent us all the way to Amsterdam and
back for a few quid’s worth of…sugar?’
‘And you fell for it hook line and sinker you stupid bastard.’ There were looks
of shock and confusion on the faces of everybody else in the room; even Mason didn’t
know what to make of this strange revelation.
‘I fooled the fucking lot of you didn’t I?’ Hackett growled over his shoulder
prompting Skinner to jump to his feet.
‘But Frank, you said we were going to make loads of money; you said it
would be an even split. Aw Christ, I knew it was too good to be true, I needed
a new car when I pass my test as well.’
Hackett spun round in his seat.
‘Do you honestly think for a second that I’d share anything with you if I had
it? The only thing I’ll give you is an early grave if you disrespect me again, now shut
it.’
It was Harrison’s turn to speak.
‘Frankie, what the hell is happening here? Where’s these four kilos of smack
you’ve been going on about all week man?’
Dawson moved closer to the desk cautiously; he also tasted the sugar to satisfy
his curiosity.
‘For fuck’s sake Frank, this isn’t April fools day you know…bastard sugar.’
Before long, everybody crowded around the desk (including Mason) to sample the
white substance and soon, the office was filled with raised voices, arguments and
exchanged insults.
Donohue looked on, shaking his head in disbelief; he almost pinched himself
to awaken from this strange nightmare-like situation. He hoped it wouldn’t get any
worse than this. He reluctantly sat back down.
‘Right that’s it, enough of this bollocks. Just sit down and shut up…right
now.’ Hackett bellowed and almost immediately, the bickering ceased as they
returned to their seats. Donohue fumbled for his pack of Marlboro.
‘Look Hackett, just tell me what it is you want from me and make it quick
because at the moment I’m at the end of my fucking sanity.’ With shaking hands, he
lit a cigarette before he continued.
‘For a start I’ve just spent most my life on a big fucking boat, I’m tired, I’m
hungry and I’m really not in the mood for any more of your stupid fucking games
so please…what the hell is this all about?’
Hackett’s forefinger traced the length of his facial scar.
‘Well in that case I’ll come straight to the point. Remember I told you about
that prick Andy Birch running off with my money instead of going to Amsterdam like
he was supposed to?’
Donohue nodded impassively.
‘Well that was only a test to find out whether I could trust him or not because I
heard rumours about him being an informer as well as a thief. All he had to do was
bring me the packages from Holland and that would’ve been it.’
Donohue turned to Mason, and spoke as quietly as he could.
‘Would you mind waiting outside until I’m finished?’
‘Aw come on Tom, it’s freezing out there as you well know; what I’m I
supposed to do to keep warm? Mason whispered abruptly.’
Donohue raised his voice this time.
‘Use your body fat to keep warm, run round the block a few times or go to the
bog…I don’t know but please, I won’t be long I promise.’
Mason reluctantly left the office mumbling to himself as his friend turned his
attention back to Hackett.
‘So what you’re trying to tell me is that you sent me all the way to Amsterdam
for…fuck all?’
‘What I’m telling you is that I sent you on that trip to see if I could trust you…
it’s that simple. I mean come on, how much money do you think four lousy kilos
would make anyway? Barely half-a-million or something? Christ, I’ve got cuff-links
that cost more than that.’
Donohue was becoming more frustrated and annoyed by the second. He felt
like he had two minds. One dreaded the next few words to fall from Hackett’s lips;
the other wanted to get it over with once and for all. The trouble was though…would
it ever be over?
He suddenly felt an intense hatred for everybody in the room as he glanced at
each face in turn with contempt, his gaze finally resting on the man sat before him
again. How he hated him with a vengeance; he’d destroyed so many lives in twenty-
odd years of living by the gun.
He suddenly slammed both hands onto the table and sprang back to his feet.
The sudden movement startled Hackett; he almost rose to his feet too, but decided it
was pointless.
Donohue walked slowly towards the window
‘Listen, I don’t give a fuck what you’ve got in store for me but I’m out of that
door in ten seconds if you don’t tell me what it is you want, because I’ll tell you
something now…I’ve had enough.’
This time Hackett did get to his feet; he kicked his chair across the room.
‘Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to you ginger-haired prick?’
Donohue rushed forward.
‘I might be a ginger-haired prick in your eyes, but you’re the thick bastard
who has no friends…just people who do what you say because you pay well and scare
the shit out of them. You’re a cunt Frank…a real fucking cunt and there’s no getting
away from it. By the way, the ten seconds are up and I’m leaving this shithole.’
‘If you walk out of that door, there will be dire consequences.’
Donohue stopped in his tracks and squeezed his eyes shut while Hackett
continued.
‘Listen to me you fucking arsehole, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t even be
breathing, that sexy woman of yours will be beaten; then raped; then beaten to death
and raped again…and again. Your step-kids will be put through a fucking meat
grinder…literally. Is that what you want to happen because I’m telling you now, I can
make brilliant things like that happen Tom old son…now sit your arse down.’
‘What’s the score Frank…plain and simple?’ Donohue still hovered by the
door. He was about to yank it open, when Hackett’s words prevented him from doing
so yet again. This time it was a name.
‘Mickey Bennett.’
He turned round slowly.
‘What about him?’ What’s he got to do with me?’
Hackett stubbed out his cigar.
‘He’s got everything to do with you because you’re going to kidnap his
daughter and bring her to me; that’s the real job I’ve set up for you. You’ll have to do
it today after she finishes school because I’m going to Las Vegas tomorrow to buy
myself a casino. Don’t worry, some of my associates will tend to her every need in the
lock up I’ve prepared for her.’ There were low murmurings from the back of the
office. Hackett began to speak again but Skinner interrupted in mid-sentence.
‘I’ll take really good care of her, you can count on that.’
Hackett spun round.
‘Shut your mouth you little bastard pervert before I set you on fire.’
He turned back to Donohue, who still stood looking mortified.
‘You see, I’m taking over his patch whether he likes it or not but the problem
is…lately he’s being disrespectful and digging his heels in. The cunt even came to
my pub and insulted…me. Maybe if we send a small part of her worthless twelve-
year-old body to him every few days he’ll finally come to his senses and ship out.’
Donohue couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘That’s it, Hackett, you’ve definitely lost it this time. Do you really think you
can get away with something so fucking ridiculous? I’ve never heard anything so
pathetic in all my life and if you think I’ll even touch something like this with so
much as a battering ram, then you’ve got a more vivid imagination than Salvador
Dali.’ He leaned closer.
‘Bennett happens to be a friend of mine and I’ll tell you something else, today
I’m going to tell him exactly what it is you have in store for him. By the way, I’ve
changed my mind; I think I will have a drink after all.’ He picked up the bottle of
whisky and gulped down two huge measures. He replaced the top and studied the
label for a moment.
‘You know Frank…as I’ve said many times before, I’m a pacifist which
means I hate to use violence of any kind whatsoever just to make a point…but
sometimes exceptions have to be made.’
Without warning, he smashed the bottle into the side of Hackett’s head,
sending him flying from his chair amidst a shower of liquor and glass. Immediately
Dawson, Skinner and the two youths rushed forward; only Harrison remained rooted
to the spot, startled by the sudden outburst.
Donohue hurled the other half of the bottle towards the advancing mass; the
jagged end caught the black-eyed youth square in the face, piercing his left eyeball.
He fell to his knees screeching in agony, instinctively covering his destroyed and
bloodied face with both hands.
Dawson threw a right hook but his huge, slow bulk meant that Donohue easily
saw it coming and grabbed his wrist. He twisted his arm at an awkward angle before
striking it just above the elbow; there was a sickening cracking sound as his arm
snapped; he too squealed in agony. Donohue grabbed the heavy marble ashtray from
the desk and smashed it over his cranium; the blow cut his scream short but he still
wouldn’t go down. He was about to hit him again when he felt a sharp pain as the
second youth plunged a switchblade into his right shoulder. He instinctively swung
his elbow back catching the youth in the side of his face, breaking his jaw; he went
down with a heavy thud.
‘You’re fucking crazy Donohue, you’ll never get away with this,’ Dawson
said through clenched teeth. Donohue kicked him hard between the legs; the point of
his cowboy boot crushed one of his testicles. The look of pure agony in his eyes
brought a maniacal smile to Donohue’s lips as he hit him with the ashtray again – this
time he did go down, landing heavily on Hackett’s unconscious body.
‘Help me please, I’m blind, I’m fucking blind,’ the first youth whimpered. It
was music to Donohue’s ears. He ran forward, delivering a powerful kick to his left
temple to silence him before turning his attention to Skinner who also wielded a knife.
He was backing off, the fear evident in his eyes. Donohue swiftly advanced and
kicked the knife from his hand; the weapon embedded itself in the wall.
‘Please…I…I wasn’t g…going to use it…honest…’ before he could finish,
Donohue grabbed his greasy hair and slammed his head into the wall below the
protruding knife. He slid to the floor to remain motionless. DS Harrison was trying to
use his mobile phone with shaking hands.
‘Just remember w…who I am D…Donohue, don’t g…go too far…’
Donohue grabbed him by the throat. He snatched the mobile with his left
hand and crushed it under his foot; he began to squeeze mercilessly until his eyes
bulged in their sockets.
The door suddenly crashed open. It was the huge bald doorman from earlier.
‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll turn around and fuck off fatso,’
Donohue shouted. The doorman pulled out a massive Smith & Wesson 45 calibre
XVR.
‘Let him go right now or I’ll put a hole in you big enough for a fucking train to
drive through,’ the doorman growled, pulling back the hammer with his thumb. It was
the most lethal revolver that Donohue had ever seen. With lightning speed, he
positioned himself behind the detective and gripped his neck in a tight lock with his
right arm.
‘If you pull the trigger, you’ll end up killing this bent copper here so put the
fucking gun down before I break his neck.’
He was about to repeat the order when Mason brought a fire extinguisher
crashing onto the back of the doorman’s head. He slumped heavily to the ground; the
gun fell from his grasp. Mason discarded the fire extinguisher and stepped into the
office to view the carnage.
‘What the fuck’s happened here, world war three?’ he scratched his head.
Donohue tossed Harrison to one side and rushed towards the door. He picked up
the revolver.
‘Right Harrison, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow you away
here and now?’ he seethed, pointing the weapon at the DS, who cowered in the
corner.
‘Please d…don’t be a f…fool, you’re in enough t…trouble as it is man…’
‘I’ll decide when I’m in enough trouble you crooked bastard, now turn around
and face the window…now.’
Harrison slowly raised his hands and turned his back to Donohue.
‘What…what are you g…going to do?’
Donohue ignored the question and brought the heavy gun down onto
Harrison’s head three times before he finally fell to the floor; the blood from his
wounds already soaking into his grey hair. He tucked the gun into his belt before
searching through Hackett’s pockets.
‘What the hell are you doing man? Come on let’s go. By the way, do you
know you’ve got a knife sticking out of your back?’
Donohue knew he’d been stabbed but he didn’t know the blade was still there.
He tried to stretch his left arm behind him but the effort proved too great.
‘Lenny do me a favour, pull that fucking blade out because it’s starting to
irritate me now…the world is full of backstabbers as I’m finding out lately.’
‘You should get to hospital, because it could cause even more damage if we
try and pull it out ourselves’
‘And what am I supposed to tell them? Just do it please.’ Mason reluctantly
grabbed the handle.
‘At the count of three,’ he said.
‘One…two…three.’ He yanked the switchblade from his shoulder; Donohue
grunted in pain before he carried on searching.
‘Here we are, it looks like we’ve got a free ride away from here at least,’ he
said when he found the keys to Hackett’s Jaguar S-type SE plus.
As soon as they got outside, Donohue retched and threw up in the car park. He
tossed the keys to Mason.
‘You drive because I can hardly move my fucking arm. We’re going straight
to mine first; then I have to speak to Mickey Bennett…urgently.’
They sat in the car for a moment. Mason drummed his fingers on the steering
wheel.
‘What the hell happened in there?’ he asked, staring straight ahead. Donohue
grimaced in pain and shifted his position uncomfortably.
‘There are lines that shouldn’t be crossed, it’s as simple as that.’
‘Jesus, Tom, I hope you realise you’ve just murdered the two of us.’
‘It’s not the two of us I’m worried about,’ he replied when Mason started the
engine.
24 -- FIVE DEAD IN THREE DAYS
CONISTON, CUMBRIA, JULY 1984:
Bobby Smith had an uneasy restless night’s sleep, partly because he wasn’t used to
sleeping in cars and the Range Rover was particularly uncomfortable, plus the same
nightmare he’d been having for the last four years still hadn’t eluded him: the image
of Frank Hackett swinging the axe towards his face. God how he hated the man. One
day he would have his revenge; he would seek out all of his friends and relatives one-
by-one.
He’d managed to clean himself in a nearby stream the evening before, he also
donned a change of clothes but he would wear the same makeshift mask again
tonight. He wondered how many more victims he could claim until he got caught –
and he would be caught, he knew there was absolutely no doubt about it, but until
then, he had a pointless point to make.
He also wished he could seek and destroy every single person connected to
The Daily Mail; he knew that was wishful thinking though – even he wouldn’t be able
to push those sort of boundaries no matter how powerful he thought he was.
He’d spent the last of his money on filling up the tank with petrol – not that
he’d be needing money for what he had to do, he had ample supplies to sustain him
until his time came: beans, alcohol and dope.
He’d almost finished hiding the Range Rover in more thick underbrush which
he’d discovered a few hours ago. It was 9:20pm and darkness slowly began to
descend upon the lakes and mountains. He decided to have one more can of cider and
finish off the huge joint before he ventured out into the humid night.
His excitement rose as he remembered passing a caravan site about a mile
down the road but it would be tricky to kill silently and unnoticed – especially after
the previous evening’s tiresome and messy deed. He’d need to be extra vigilant
tonight.
He could make out music in the distance – it was The more you live, the more
you love by A flock of Seagulls. Somebody at the campsite obviously had a radio on
because he knew the song in question was in the charts at the moment. He ran up the
road until he drew level with the sound. He stood at the edge of the field peering
through the bushes at a lone male in his twenties, lounging with his back to him in a
deck chair, donned in shorts and vest. His hair was bleached blonde and similar in
style to Howard Jones.
The camper was hidden from the rest of the field by a nearby two-man tent
and an ugly sickly-yellow Renault 5. Smith quickly but carefully scanned the rest of
the site wondering if he had a partner and if so, where was she or he?
All was still save for the young man who was foolish enough to choose such a
secluded spot away from the other campers. He tapped his feet in time with the music.
The radio, which sat on the nearby folding camping table, now blared out another title
but this time, from the previous summer: Big Log by Robert Plant.
Smith pulled the mask over his head and quietly climbed the perimeter fence,
crouching low in the long grass at the edge of the field. He tried to count the tents and
caravans but the darkening sky and sheer size of the site itself made the otherwise
simple function more difficult, so he focused on his intended victim again. He
wondered how he should move in for the attack; he didn’t know whether to sneak up
stealthily or to rush forward like a maniac. Each method seemed risky in its own way
but one thing was for sure, he couldn’t make the same mistake as last night and let
him escape – at least when he’d chased his last victim there wasn’t anybody to hear
her screams.
A sudden rustling sound to his left startled him. He turned sharply, squinting
in the gloom. At first, he thought he could see a small white dog making its way
towards him and he almost cursed in dismay until he realised that it was a discarded
Hintons supermarket carrier bag moving on the gentle night breeze, he could just
make out the orange logo. He turned his attention back to the young man who still
hadn’t moved a muscle, aside from the tapping of his feet. He knew he couldn’t be
asleep with the radio so loud unless he was stoned, drunk or maybe both. He suddenly
realised that if he was asleep, it would make the sneaking up a lot easier than he’d
previously thought, so he decided to use the stealth method after all. The radio could
also serve to cover his advancing tracks.
He began to inch forward, machete gripped tightly in his disfigured right hand.
His eyes never left his next victim’s back as he crept purposely forward, sweating
behind his mask, which was stained and still slightly moist in places with solidifying
blood. The hot sweat on his throbbing brow suddenly turned ice-cold as he thought
the distance between the fence and his prey was initially about twenty feet but now it
didn’t seem as though the gap was closing. The haunting guitar from Big Log still
raged on distortedly from the cheap radio and when he stepped on an empty crisp
packet, he froze…the sound was bound to alert attention. He crouched low to the
ground.
The seconds ticked by and his legs became painful. He remained in the same
position for the next forty-seconds; he was about to rise again but he heard another
sound, to his left again. It was a female voice getting louder. The bloke does have a
partner after all, he thought despairingly. As she got closer, he heard fragments of
chatter about being thrashed at table tennis in the recreation hall and how she was
only eighteen-years-old without some sort of work contract. She was a redhead but he
couldn’t tell if she was attractive or not in the darkening night.
Suddenly the realisation hit him…she was only about twelve-feet away…and
facing him; there wasn’t any grass or bushes to hide him but luckily her ranting
distracted her from his presence. His legs were becoming numb and he didn’t know
how much longer he could remain in such an agonising position. The DJ announced
that they were tuned into Radio Cumbria and the time was 9:40pm, before a barrage
of commercials invaded the airwaves.
He sighed with relief through clenched teeth when the girl mentioned
something about the toilet and turned away. He waited patiently until she disappeared
from view before standing upright, rubbing his aching legs and moving forward more,
quickly this time, raising the machete high above his head ready to strike. Only inches
were between them now and the camper sensed a presence behind him, for he turned
around sharply – he didn’t know what hit him. There was a dull clunk as Smith buried
the machete deep into his face diagonally. The blade actually split one of his eyeballs
in two as it sliced four inches through flesh and bone. He wrenched the blade free to
reveal the terrible gaping wound, which oozed a copious flow of warm blood; the
twitching body slumped forward to the floor.
As luck would have it, there was a wooded area just a few feet away so he
discarded his machete and quickly dragged the corpse deep into the trees, grunting
with the effort. The radio now played Some guys have all the luck by Rod Stewart.
Not this guy, he thought smiling crookedly to himself. He let the corpse drop to the
ground, suddenly remembering that he’d left his weapon on the table next to the radio.
He rushed from the woods to retrieve it just as he noticed the young girl in the
distance returning from the toilet block. He quickly hid amongst the trees and waited.
Upon her return, she unbuttoned her white blouse and did exactly what he
expected – called out her partner’s name.
‘Steve…Steve, where are you? You better not be pissing in the woods again
when there’s perfectly good bogs…’ her voice trailed off when she noticed the dark
stain on the table.
‘Stop messing about because I’m really not in the mood for your stupid games
tonight and don’t forget we’ve got to be up early in the morning.’ She became anxious
when there was still no reply, so she edged closer to the trees. Smith noticed she
wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her open blouse; he could feel his erection growing.
‘For God’s sake Steve, will you answer me?’ She was within a few feet of him
now – he could even smell her scent, it was something cheap and nasty like Tramp or
Impulse.
‘Come on Steve, you’ve had your fun, now will you just come out. I know you
haven’t gone to the toilet because you would’ve passed me on the way.’ She glanced
around the wooded area cautiously in case he was playing tricks on her again; he was
forever hiding and jumping out when she least expected it.
‘Steve I mean it…stop pissing about, I can’t be bothered with it.’ She was
directly in front of him and he knew he’d have to strike before she stumbled across
her dead lover.
‘Steve please stop…’
He leapt forward, grabbing her from behind. His hand clamped tightly over
her mouth, abruptly cutting off her words and with all his might, he drove the machete
into her upper back. She cried out in extreme pain but the sound was no more than a
muffled squeal behind his hand. He pushed even harder, forcing the blade through her
lung and heart to exit through her left breast; blood ran in torrents through his fingers.
‘I used to have loads of friends and family,’ he whispered in her ear gently.
He released his grip letting her weight slide off the heavy blade; she landed on her
front with a dull thud, the painful grimace of her last agonising moments evident in
her staring eyes.
He tore the bloodied blouse from her to wipe his hands and machete. The
radio announced that the time was now 10:00pm. He listened to the news intently, to
see if there’d been any developments involving last night’s grisly murders. It was the
same news that he’d heard all day every hour: ‘A mutilated couple were found on a
quiet country lane in the Windermere area early this morning, a local man out
walking his dog made the grim discovery…’ He switched off the radio and turned
back to the woods.
‘Well that wasn’t too bad now was it?’ he asked his dead victims mockingly
before heading towards the toilet block – his blood lust was nowhere near satisfied
yet.
Quite a few caravans were illuminated which made him feel uneasy but
luckily, he could make out the toilets just up ahead, so he decided to hide in the ladies
and lie in wait for potential victims for a few hours – but what if nobody paid a
visit all night? He didn’t want to stay there until morning.
He hid behind a cluster of bins, observing the entrance for a few minutes and
when he thought the coast was clear, he raced inside, taking off his mask. He used the
nearest sink to splash his face with cold water, taking care not to look at his hideous
reflection in the huge rectangular mirror.
‘Five dead in three days, not bad going,’ he mused. Now all he had to do was
wait patiently for the sixth victim to stumble in his murderous path. He hoped his next
killings would be as easy as the previous two…Christ, they only took place a few
minutes ago. He glanced at his watch; it was now 10:15pm.
He pulled the mask back over his head and decided to relieve himself in one of
the cubicles while he waited. After he zipped himself back up, he froze. He heard
voices, female voices. That’s when the realisation hit him harshly: women almost
always go to the toilet in pairs for some strange reason and he cursed inwardly for not
grasping the fact earlier.
There was a creak as the door opened. There were five cubicles in all and he
occupied the end one farthest from the door; he hoped they chose not to venture this
far. He exhaled with relief as he heard the two nearest doors bang shut.
They laughed and joked about their boyfriends through the partition between
them as he crept across the tiled floor considering his next move. He didn’t know how
he was going to pull this one off without attracting attention, maybe he should just
claim one of their lives and let the other one escape. After all, it was better than
nothing. He would also have to make a sharp exit before she alerted the other campers
with her screams – and there will be screams.
He kicked open the nearest cubicle door, it crashed loudly against the
partition. Sat on the toilet was a woman in her early thirties with long dark brown
hair; she held a few sheets of toilet paper in her hand with which to wipe herself. She
glanced upwards and gasped sharply before she screamed in sheer terror as he raised
the blade. The first blow sliced effortlessly through all four fingers on her left hand,
which she instinctively raised in defence. He struck her repeatedly, relentlessly,
hacking through flesh and bone. One blow even sliced some of her scalp away.
Arterial blood sprayed and splashed everywhere, she wasn’t screaming anymore but
he continued chopping away regardless. He was vaguely aware of another cubicle
door opening. The sound made him stop in mid-swing as he remembered her friend
next door, now she too began screaming hysterically when he stepped from the
cubicle drenched in his victims blood. He didn’t chase her because it was too risky,
besides, she looked as though she would easily outrun him; she was an extremely tall
athletic blonde. She bolted from the toilet screaming at the top of her voice.
‘Heeeeelp…will somebody please heeeeelp.’
He glanced at his handiwork; there wasn’t much left of her. He’d almost
severed her head and her face was no longer recognisable. Both her hands lay on the
floor (one of them without fingers) and a thick pool of blood lapped at his feet like a
crimson tide. He turned and ran towards the door but it was too late; by the time he’d
stepped out into the night, a dozen people (mostly men) were rushing towards him
and some wielded weapons. He was hopelessly outnumbered.

He struck the closest one with a mighty blow on the temple killing him
instantly.
‘I used to have loads of fucking friends and family,’ he roared a second before
a cricket bat crashed down onto his head; he fell to the floor unconscious. His
killing spree was finally over.
‘Somebody call the police and an ambulance…now,’ somebody shouted.
25 -- TIME’S LIKE GOLD DUST
‘What was it all about?’
‘Look Lenny, I really don’t have time for this now. Cath and her kid’s lives
are in danger…your life’s in danger. In fact, everybody and everything connected to
me at the minute is in danger so if I was you, I’d disappear for a while because I’ve
got a shit load of thinking to do.’ He told Mason about Hackett’s absurd demands.
‘Jesus fucking Christ Tom, the bloke’s a maniac. Are you sure he meant what
he was saying?’
‘He meant it all right.’ There was a few moments silence broken by Mason.
‘Did you really have to batter them all senseless man? How did you manage
it?’
‘Just forget it and get your shit together and…you’ll have to ditch this stupid
Jag while you’re at it. You might as well burn the bastard thing out; see how the fat
twat likes that.’
‘Come on Tom; don’t go too far. I think you’re already in enough shit as it is
don’t you?’ Donohue ignored him; he seemed to be preoccupied with something more
important. He wiped the condensation from the windscreen and leant forward to peer
through the glass.
‘I don’t fucking believe this,’ he muttered irritably. Mason also leant forward
and squinted out into the cold afternoon searching for the source of his friend’s
annoyance, only noticing a black Volkswagen Passat parked a few feet up the road.
He turned to Donohue mystified by his wild expression.
‘What’s wrong now? he asked as his eyes tried to follow his gaze.
‘That’s all I fucking need, the bastard coppers are in my house…I’d recognise
that car anywhere. Look Lenny, do me a favour and get yourself over to Byker, find
Mickey Bennett and tell him what’s going down while I see what these cunts want.’
He scrambled from the car before Mason could protest.
The icy wind bit into his flesh as he made the short trip up the driveway
towards the front door; he hastily rushed inside, heading straight for the living room
to be greeted by DI Harry Williams and DS Colin Davis. Cath was sitting on the
couch.
Williams was forty-three and a grossly overweight chronic asthmatic; his bald
head always seemed to be glistening with sweat no matter what the weather, and his
thick moustache almost hid his whole mouth. Donohue had had his fair share of run-
ins with him in the past.

‘What the hell do you want, Williams? I’ve been overseas for the last few days
so if you’re here to pursue some trumped up charges against me, then you can think
again.’
‘Where’s that psychotic brother of yours?’ The DI asked harshly.
Donohue turned to Cath.
‘How long have Laurel and Hardy been here?’
‘We’ve been here about five-minutes Mr Donohue; we’re just making some
routine enquiries,’ Davis replied placidly.
‘So you know your names then,’ there was a smugness in Donohue’s voice,
which angered Williams, he wheezed and pulled out an inhaler.
‘Do you know of your brother’s whereabouts because he’s up to his neck in it
this time?’
Donohue lit a Marlboro, while Williams used his inhaler, pressing it twice to
clear his airways.
‘Where’s Johnson anyway? He came round a few days ago telling me the
same crap and you were with him…weren’t you?’ Donohue turned to Davis before
glancing towards his girlfriend again.
‘It’s no use looking at me, Tom, they haven’t told me a thing, and they were
just about to leave before you turned up,’ she uttered, shrugging her shoulders.
‘Christ man, don’t any of you lot ever watch the bloody news?’ Williams
asked incredulously.
‘Look all I know is that somebody got battered to death last Saturday night
and he was there…that’s all Johnson told me so I already know about it anyway. By
the way, how the hell can I watch the news when I’m in Amsterdam doing a favour
for your mates?’

‘The whereabouts of Johnson is none of your concern but the whereabouts of
your psycho brother is my concern. Didn’t you know him and his pals are the most
wanted men in Britain at the moment? Three murders in less than a week Donohue,
Jesus, is he going for some kind of world record or something?’
‘Wait a minute, what the hell are you on about? Three murders…what
the hell do you mean?’
‘Him and some maniac friend killed two police officers yesterday during a
bungled robbery…two young constables in their twenties with everything to live for.
One of them had a wife who was seven months pregnant. Now…where is he?’ He
used his inhaler again.
Donohue sat on the couch at the opposite end to Cath; he shook his head
despairingly. When he eventually glanced up at the DI, he was deathly white; his
voice sounded tired and resigned.
‘What do you mean he’s killed two coppers? It doesn’t make sense…I mean…
how, w…why for crying out loud? I mean…Listen Williams, I haven’t seen that prick
for ages, and if he did turn up on my doorstep, I would knock him out and drive him
to police headquarters myself.’
Donohue rose to his feet and Williams noticed a trickle of sweat running down
his face; his eyes also seemed sunken – he thought he looked and smelled a mess. He
didn’t notice he was in pain though; there were no give-away signs because his long
coat hid the steady flow of blood oozing from his wound and running down his back.
He fell back onto the couch; his voice was a hoarse whisper when he spoke again. The
huge Smith and Wesson felt awkward in his waistband beneath his shirt.
‘I haven’t seen him for a very long time.’
‘We want you to contact us immediately if you hear from him for whatever
reason; he’s an extremely dangerous individual and he needs to be caught as soon as
possible.’ Davis said.
Donohue stubbed out his cigarette.
‘Well if that’s all…look; I don’t have a clue where he is and I don’t know
where his so called friends are either, now if you don’t mind I’ve got things to do.’
‘Don’t worry, we’re going,’ Williams growled. He faced Donohue when he
reached the front door.
‘We will catch him and his scumbag friends…let’s face it son, he won’t be
too difficult to find…I mean, he leaves corpses wherever he goes.’
Donohue slammed the door and returned to the living room. Cath hadn’t
changed her position on the couch.
‘What’s going on, Tom? That’s two visits from the police in less than a week,
and just look at the state of you.’ He controlled his frustration – he was too wiped out
to argue anyway.
‘Like I told those two arseholes, I don’t have a clue what he’s been doing this
time. In case you haven’t realised, it’s not long since I stepped off the frigging ferry.’
A sudden wave of nausea and dizziness swept over him; Cath noticed a vacant
look in his eyes before he crashed to the floor clumsily. She jumped to her feet and
rushed over to him.
‘Tom are you okay? Wake up you stupid bastard.’ She began to slap his face
hysterically when she realised he’d passed out. There was a glass of virtually
untouched wine on the coffee table, which she grabbed. She tipped the contents onto
his face but to no avail. She stared at the phone contemplating whether to ring an
ambulance until she heard him groan slightly.
‘Tom…Tom, can you hear me?’

His eyes flickered open and she sighed with relief as he slowly sat upright
wiping the alcohol from his face.
‘Bloody hell, you gave me a real scare…are you all right? What happened?’
He got to his feet unsteadily.
‘Look Cath, you’re going to have to get the kids and go to your
Mother’s…indefinitely.’
She stared at him aghast.
‘What the bloody hell are you talking about?’
‘Look, just do as I ask for once in your life will you,’ he snapped as he
staggered from the living room and made for the stairs; Cath followed close behind.
‘As usual you’re not making any sense again; will you please tell me what
you’re going on about?’ He paused halfway up the stairs and turned to face her.
‘Cath, pet, listen to me very carefully, your lives are in grave danger so you
have to get out of this house for a while. One of Frank Hackett’s cronies stabbed me
today and pretty soon they’ll come looking for me. He’s already threatened to harm
you and the kids, and the whole Amsterdam thing was a complete wild goose chase so
please, you have to start packing. Better still, get to the school, and collect Danny and
Peter.’ He continued quickly upwards until he reached the bathroom.
He struggled to take off his coat and shirt and Cath put her hands to her mouth
to stifle a scream when she saw the amount of blood on his back.
‘You’re going to have to go to hospital; you look like you’ve lost about two
pints of blood.’
‘There’s no way I’ve got time to piss about in a fucking hospital man. Jesus
Cath, haven’t you heard a damn word I’ve just said? You need to get to the school and
pick the kids up as soon as you can.’ She turned but paused in the doorway.
‘At least let me try and patch you up first. You can’t do it yourself can you?’
‘Okay, but please be quick about it, time’s like gold dust.’
She managed to clean his wound and was relieved when she noticed the
bleeding had almost stopped. She padded the wound and bandaged it, winding the
gauze around his chest while he told her about the nightmarish last few days.
‘My God Tom, why don’t you just hit the nail on the head instead of
catapulting a handful of rusty screws in my face?’
‘Oh come on Cath man, how many times have you told me to be honest?’
‘I’m starting to see your true colours now, that’s a fact,’ she said angrily as he
turned on the cordless shaver.
‘There aren’t any true colours anymore Cath; everything’s black and white.’
‘I’m getting sick and tired of all this bloody shite…secrets…lies…what the
hell have you got yourself mixed up in? If anything happens to my boys, the blood
will be on your hands.’ He turned off the shaver and spun round.
‘I don’t give two flying fuck’s in Billy Smart’s Circus what you think at the
minute…now will you please just go and get the kids before it’s too bloody late.’
Cath stormed downstairs.
By the time he’d managed to wash his hair and clean himself up, it was
3:30pm and Cath had already left. He decided to have a tin of mackerel in spicy
tomato sauce washed down with a generous helping of whiskey to keep him going.
Today was supposed to be the day when most of his worries were over but he realised
that he was in more trouble now than ever. He quickly devoured the fish.
He put the empty tin aside and turned on the TV, flicking from channel to
channel until he found Sky news. After five-minutes of watching the misery and woe
throughout the world, he decided to turn it back off when something caught his
attention urging him to turn up the volume. His old friend Bobby Smith had escaped
from a secure psychiatric unit.
Donohue couldn’t understand how he’d managed such a feat given the tight
security in the place. It was only about two years since his first and last visit and he
swore he’d never return to the awful place. Smith’s mind was so far gone that he
wondered why he’d made the effort to see him in the first place. Even though he’d
brutally murdered seven innocent people, he didn’t show an ounce of remorse for his
crimes; he just kept on repeating the same thing: how one day he’ll escape and kill
Frank Hackett and everyone who stood in his way. Donohue was foolish enough to
give him his address in case he wrote – he did write two letters and then nothing.
Apparently, he and four other inmates had taken five people hostage including
a psychologist and a doctor – now Donohue had something else to worry about if he
was to make his way up North. He went out to the garage and decided to hide the
revolver for the time being.

26 -- HE SHOULD LEAVE THE PLANET
BYKER, TYNE & WEAR:
Mason parked the Jaguar in the car park of the Blacksmiths Arms and sat for a while,
contemplating the unpredictable. He didn’t relish being the harbinger of such a bizarre
message (especially when somebody like Mickey “The Hands” Bennett had to hear
it), but he didn’t have an option – it was a favour for his best friend.
He reluctantly climbed from the vehicle and headed towards the side entrance.
He’d asked a few familiar faces of his whereabouts in a couple of his other pubs on
the way here and if the information was correct, he should be playing snooker with
some of his friends.
He entered the bar area amidst hostile glares. No music was playing and
Bennett wasn’t at the snooker table; he sat at the bar talking to two huge insane
looking men. He took in their attire as he neared the bar and noticed that all three
were casually dressed; their eyes bored into him when he drew closer.
‘Well well, if it isn’t Lenny the Lion,’ Bennett said sarcastically while his two
companions eyed him suspiciously.
‘Listen to me Mickey, I have to talk to you…and it’s very important,’
Mason glanced around at the dubious clientele that adorned the scruffy pub. The smile
on Bennett’s face suddenly changed to a confused frown.
‘Sounds ominous go on then, fire away.’
‘In private if you don’t mind.’
Bennett nodded to his companions before rising from his stool. He grabbed his
mobile, cigarettes and pint of lager from the bar.
‘We can go up to the function room; there’s nobody up there. Come to think
of it, nobody ever goes up there anymore…put it this way, who in their right mind
would even dream of using a place like this for a fucking wedding reception or
something? You’d have to be retarded wouldn’t you?’
Bennett’s tall spindly frame took the stairs three at a time followed by
Mason’s small steps. They reached a door, which he unlocked. He ushered Mason
inside the spacious room, turning on the light before closing the door behind them.
Mason noticed the appalling condition of the place; months, maybe even years of
neglect gave the dusty room a grim and depressing atmosphere.
Bennett led them towards a table by the window and blew the thick layer of
dust from the surface before he sat down and lit a Lambert & Butler. He leaned his
elbows on the table and regarded Mason with curious eyes.
‘By the way, where’s Tommy? I haven’t seen him since Michael Jackson was
a fucking black man. Is he still living with that blonde lass…? What’s her name again,
Karen…Catherine…Carol…?’
‘It’s Cathleen, and he’s the reason why I’ve come to see you, he’s the one who
sent me over here.’
‘Well why the hell couldn’t he come over here himself, he hasn’t got two
broken legs has he?’ He blew a long plume of smoke towards the bedraggled, old-
fashioned curtains; he turned back to Mason and his face took on a more serious
expression.
‘Well I suppose you’ll just have to spit it out then won’t you? I tell you
what though; I don’t like the sound of this…at all.’
‘You’ll like the sound of it even less when you eventually let me get on with it
Mickey. Now Frank Hackett’s got this idea in his head that…’
Bennett leapt to his feet, his face contorted with anger.
‘I might’ve known that fucking fat cunt had something to do with it; you know
lately I can’t even walk down the street for a loaf of bastard bread without hearing his
fucking name. I tell you what the next time I…’
‘Fucking calm down Mickey man…I’m not your enemy, he is. Now please let
me talk to you.’
Bennett reluctantly returned to his stool.
Mason told him about the Amsterdam swindle, overcoming countless
interruptions in the process. He’d reached the point before the bloodbath in Hackett’s
office, when Bennett leapt to his feet again to begin another screaming rant.
‘I tell you what it is Lenny…sugar…fucking sugar…I tell you what, that fat
cunt can shove it right up his fat fucking arse because he doesn’t fucking scare me and
he thinks he’s got everything under control. I’ll tell you something about that psycho
arsehole…he’ll never be in control when he’s convinced he’s a character in one of his
stupid computer games…every time I go to one of his stinking office’s he’s pissing
about on one of his stupid games…’
‘Just shut the fuck up for once in your life and let me speak Mickey man.
Hackett said he’s going to Las Vegas tomorrow but according to Tommy, he has
plans for your daughter…’
‘Plans…what kind of plans?’ Bennett asked in a high-pitched voice, his wild
eyes burned into Mason as he harshly stubbed out his cigarette. Mason continued.
‘Well…he ordered Tom to…kidnap your daughter and that’s why he’s
sent me here…to warn you.’ Bennett kicked over the nearest table.
‘Kidnap my daughter…kidnap my daughter.’ He ran his hands through his
long hair, which hung loosely around his shoulders before he raised a stool high
above his head and hurled it across the room; it crashed into the dusty optics above
the bar, sending glass flying in all directions. When he turned to face Mason again,
the rage in his eyes was evident; each of his hands jabbed a forefinger in his direction
and spittle sprayed from his lips as he spoke.
‘There’s something I have to know, and I want the truth…did Donohue give in
to that mad bastard’s demands? In other words, should I expect him on my patch any
time now?’
‘Oh come on, what do you think? You know as well as I do that Tommy
would never even think about it. In fact, he single-handedly kicked fuck out of him
and five of his mates in his own office so I don’t think our friend Frankie is in the best
of moods at the minute. Tommy only sent me over here to warn you that’s all.’
Bennett looked shocked.
‘Fuck me, you’re telling me that he battered Hackett…in his own office. So
what’s he going to do now, leave town?’ Bennett returned to his seat and lit another
cigarette.
‘Well if you ask me I think he should leave the planet because he’s in deep
fucking shit now.’
‘Come on Len, Hackett’s not as hard as everybody makes out and besides,
even if Tommy refused and just walked away, Hackett would still be after his blood
and at the rate he’s going lately, he’s going to end up with more enemies than friends.
I’m going to get the fat bastard if it’s the last thing I do; I’ve got a lovely big sawn-off
shotgun downstairs, I’ve a good mind to drive over there right now and blow his
fucking head off, and God help his friends. Kidnap my daughter, who the fuck does
he think he is?’
Mason got to his feet.
‘Well you can drive over there in style because I’ve got his state-of-the-art
Jag outside.’
Bennett looked confused.
Mason headed for the door.
‘We stole it this afternoon.’
Bennett laughed again as he also rose from his seat.
‘You stole his car…fucking hell, I think he’ll be more interested in you two
than me. You’ve got some bottle I’ll give you that. Anyway, thanks for the offer but I
think I’ll stick with my SAAB and anyway, he can wait. Why the hell’s he going to
Las Vegas?’
‘He said something about buying a casino or something; the bastard must have
more money than sense.’

Bennett paused halfway down the stairs.
‘I do know one thing though, that big safe in Frank’s Palace contains more
than just money,’ he said quietly.
Mason decided to have a drink before he left so he ordered a double whisky at
the bar. He nodded in acknowledgement to the two big men who still stood nursing
their drinks.
‘What do you mean more than just money?’ Mason asked eventually.
Bennett lowered his voice.
‘Well between you and me, he films every meeting that takes place in his
office just in case somebody drops him in it. The safe contains quite a few videos and
documents of all his dealings going back years as well as millions of pounds what he
calls petty cash.’
Mason was shocked.
‘How do you know all this?’
Bennett winked before his reply.
‘There’s a lot of things I know about that mad bastard, but if any of those
tapes end up in the wrong hands…I mean Christ; it’s no secret that ninety-per cent of
the pig bastards on the force are bent. I haven’t paid Hackett that many visits anyway
so I don’t have much to worry about. By the way, is that miserable arsehole Johnson
still hassling Tommy these days? Because he was bending my ear the other day about
his brother robbing shops, and it’s all over the papers.’
Mason thought for a moment.
‘Tom did mention something about him come to think of it. He’s even given
me enough grief in the past about selling drugs, but I wouldn’t touch anything like
that. I don’t deal in anything but punishment, you know that, and I hate the miserable
prick. Anyway, Mickey mate, I’m going to have to go and dump this car.’ They
hugged in the doorway; then Mason was gone.
27 -- SHE’S ABOUT READY FOR THE FUNNY
FARM
The sound startled him; he sat bolt upright on the bed and pointed the Glock 17
towards the bedroom door, listening with alarming zealousness. He pulled back the
slide to chamber a round as quietly as he could while the approaching footsteps grew
louder. The door opened slowly and the creaking sound was more prominent than
usual. He quickly glanced at the digital display on the bedside clock and realised that
he’d only been dosing for less than an hour.
His hand suddenly shook violently as a figure finally appeared in the gloom.
‘God, I thought you were dead, and what the bloody hell are you doing with
that gun?’ Cath asked harshly when she turned on the light. He breathed a sigh of
relief and lowered the weapon.
‘Gordon fucking Bennett Cath, why are you creeping around like that, and
where’s the kids?’
‘They’re downstairs; where the hell did you think they were? And I’m not
creeping around.’ She took off her coat and hung it in the wardrobe.
Donohue leapt from the bed, grabbed her shoulders and looked deep into her
eyes.
‘Cath, I told you to get to your mother’s with the kids and fucking stay there
for the time being until you get…sorted…this is as important as it gets, now go there
and stay there.’ She shrugged him off, pushing him back onto the bed.
‘What the hell are you on about? Do you honestly think that Hackett is so
bloody mental, that he would harm my boys? One minute you’re telling me you’ve
dropped yourself in it big time, and then you’re saying my boys are in danger.’ She
sat beside him on the bed and stared deep into his eyes – he didn’t care what she had
to say.
‘Cath, these idiots mean business and…shit.’ He scrambled to his feet and
buried his face in his hands. His next words came out slow and muffled.
‘Please believe me, they’re coming, and when they come to get us…’ his head
abruptly lifted; his eyes burned into hers.
‘Listen babe, you might think all this is as trivial as an ant’s brain cell, but as
long as you and the kids are here, you’re in bloody danger.’
‘Oh come on Tom, you should hear yourself…You can talk for the whole
world sometimes, let alone England and it’s all…shite. You think you can keep
spouting crap to me from all angles and I’m getting sick to death of it.’ She rose from
the bed; he grabbed her wrists before she struck out.
‘That’s the trouble with you isn’t it, you never listen no matter what? I’ll tell
you something shall I Cathleen darling, I can’t remember the last time we actually
talked without arguing, or you lashing out just because I won’t back down and I’m
getting really sick of your attitude lately; you’re a character in one of my nightmares,
and guess what, they’re always scary. It’s like you’re Lucifer’s wife.’ She pulled
away from him sharply.
‘Oh I see, it’s let’s play poor old Tommy the victim again. The same old story
about how difficult it is because your mum’s in a nursing home, and your brother’s a
mindless thug…’
‘Let’s play poor old innocent Cath again…have you forgotten about your
infidelities last year?’
‘How fucking dare you.’ She snatched up a bottle of perfume, ready to hurl it
in his direction when the shrill ringing of the bedside phone startled them both.
Donohue snatched it from its cradle and handed it to Cath at the caller’s request. He
noticed the look of anguish on her face as she listened.
‘Oh my God…what about…?’ Her voice was shaky. After a few minutes, she
hung up and sat back on the bed staring into space.
‘Cath…what’s up? What’s happened?’ She slowly turned to him; her
worried frown frightened him.
‘Come on Cath…what’s up?’
‘That was Jackie my manageress on the phone…my café has been burnt
down.’ Donohue’s heart sank.
‘The mad bastard didn’t waste much time did he? Don’t you realise it could be
this place next? I take it nobody was hurt.’
‘Tom, that was my livelihood, what the bloody hell am I going to do now?’
He turned to the window when he heard the screech of tyres; the sound
seemed to ring every alarm bell in existence. He turned back to his girlfriend; she
stared back wide-mouthed and wild-eyed at the expression on his face – she’d never
seen such fear in his eyes.
‘Listen Cath, I think we’ve well and truly had it this time I’m not kidding; the
people that are looking for me are fucking…dangerous.’
‘Tom, she said it was…firebombed. Why would they target me when I’m not
even involved?’
‘Because that’s what he does, he’ll destroy everything close to me before it’s
my turn, don’t you understand? The bloke is a total head case and I’ll be surprised if
my pub isn’t torched already…’
His voice was sharply drowned out by the sound of rapid gunfire from a
Scorpion CZ91S. The deadly Czech-made machine gun sprayed the lower floor with
lethal velocity rounds; the living room windows shattered, blinds buckled, ornaments
exploded – the twelve-rounds per-second mini-monster showed no mercy as the
onslaught continued until…silence.
They both remained still until Danny began crying loudly. Cath instinctively
ran for the stairs screaming in terror. She almost stumbled and fell half-way down.
‘Peter…Danny…oh my God, what’s happened?’ The gunfire began a second
merciless attack as she reached the bottom. Donohue sprinted down the stairs after
her, grabbing her and pulling her to the ground before she could reach the living room
door.
‘Stay down man, have you got a death wish or something?’ He screamed over
the noise.
‘Fucking hell, Tom, my boys are in there,’ she screeched hysterically as she
desperately tried to struggle free of his grip.
Finally, the gunfire ceased followed by more screeching of tyres as the car
sped off. They both got to their feet and raced into the living room to confront the
terrible carnage that was left behind. Peter’s bullet-riddled, blood-stained body lay on
the floor below the broken window; he was the first to die. Danny sat slumped on the
couch, part of his face had been blown away; the Playstation 2 joy pad he’d been
using dangled uselessly from one of his bloody hands.
Cath put her hands to her mouth and let out a shrill animal-like scream, which
seem to go on forever while Donohue rushed to each corpse in turn checking for signs
of life, knowing that it was pointless but he had to do something…anything. Cath’s
sudden dementia began to frightened him; she ran to Peter and cradled his tiny lifeless
body in her arms. Her ear-splitting screams reverberated around the room as she
gently rocked her dead son back and forth. Eventually she began to talk soothingly
and smother him with kisses unaware of the sticky crimson mess, which smeared her
face and soaked into her cream jumper.
‘Peter my baby, please wake up…please wake up, Mummy’s here and you’re
going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right…I promise.’
Donohue rushed to the phone, which miraculously hadn’t been hit by a stray
bullet. He frantically rang for an ambulance. When he hung up, he turned back to
Cath feeling a sudden intense guilt he’d never experienced before. He slowly ran his
hands through his hair and screwed his eyes tightly shut.
After a long moment, he made his way to the front door and wrenched it open.
He inhaled deeply, taking in a huge lungful of cold winter air to prevent himself from
passing out again. He knew the police would already be on their way because the
neighbours (most of whom were on their doorsteps up and down the street) surely
would’ve called them. He shakily lit a Marlboro.
After a few minutes, he heard the unmistakable screaming Sirens in the
distance drawing nearer until eleven patrol cars and two vans screeched to a halt
further up the street, closely followed by an ambulance. From two of the vans
emerged sixteen marksmen (another van pulled up at the back of the house), they
crouched behind the garden wall and barked the usual orders in a firearm situation –
but they obviously didn’t know too much about this situation.
‘I’m unarmed you stupid twats, the shooters have gone,’ Donohue shouted but
they weren’t interested.
‘I repeat, drop to the floor, and put your hands behind your back.’
Chief Inspector Bob Carlton stepped from the first car.
‘Carlton, tell those trigger-happy bastards to back off, the shooters have gone
and we’re the victims. There’s two dead kids in there,’
Carlton spent a few moments talking to the head of the armed response unit
before he opened the gate and made his way up the drive, closely followed by
Detective Inspector Harry Williams, five more plain-clothed detectives, and twenty-
eight uniformed officers – they inspected the Lexus and Almera on the way.
‘What in God’s name has been going on Donohue?’ Carlton shouted as he
reached the front door. Donohue quickly glanced up and down the street and noticed
that even more neighbours were on their doorsteps.
‘As usual you’re too late, the bastards have already gone, I don’t even know
why I bothered to ring an ambulance; there’s nothing they can do now,’ Donohue said
bitterly before he vomited onto the lawn.
Cath hadn’t changed position; she was oblivious to the activity around her. A
middle-aged, thickset female officer attempted to coax her away from her youngest
son but she clung ever tighter, her face a twisted mask of pure malevolence.
‘Don’t you dare touch him, he’s my boy,’ she screamed. The officer jumped
with fright, turning to one of her colleagues muttering something about shock and
sedation. The Chief Inspector turned back to Donohue after he’d scanned the
destroyed living room.
‘So are you going to tell me what happened here or what?’
‘Why don’t you ask your friend Frank Hackett? I’m sure he can fill you in on
a few details,’ Donohue replied wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
‘I tell you what son; I’m going to need detailed statements from both of you,
things like this just don’t happen out of the blue for no reason.’
‘Fuck me, Carlton, look at the state of her; she’s about ready for the funny
farm. How the hell are you going to get a statement out of her?’ Carlton and Williams
glanced at each other and hurried back outside. Carlton exhaled loudly.
‘You heard what he said in there Harry…fucking Hackett…again. Come on,
let’s get to the car it’s bastard freezing out here.’ They climbed into the Passat.
Williams was the first to speak.
‘Do you really think Hackett’s behind this?’
‘What do think? This incident virtually mirrors the one which took place at
Johnson’s house on Tuesday and I’ll tell you something else, Hackett’s made a
clown’s arsehole out of things this time.’
He pulled out his mobile and rang Hackett’s home number, when the
answering machine began he almost hung up but he recognised his wife’s voice when
she answered – she said she didn’t know where he was. He rang his mobile number
and waited, listening intently for an answer. He leant forward and sighed impatiently.
‘Come on…come on…answer the phone. Fuck me, I can die of cancer quicker
than this, where is he?’ He was about to give up when he heard Hackett’s voice.
‘Hello, who’s this?’
‘About time, this is Bob Carlton who else? listen you…’
‘Wha-hey Bob my old son, how you doing? It’s been a long time…’
‘Don’t Bob my old son me…I take it you’re responsible for the mayhem this
afternoon Frank…you’ve made a hell of a mess of things this time, do you realise
that every time your name crops up lately, I’ve got to do even more fucking
overtime?’
‘Hold on a minute, Bob, what the fuck are you going on about?’
‘I’m talking about petrol-bombing a café and turning Donohue’s house into a
fucking bloodbath that’s what…the place is being cordoned off as we speak. Christ
man…what’s going on in that head of yours? Have you completely lost the plot?’
‘Hold your horses Carlton, I haven’t moved from this office all day so I
suggest you point the finger at somebody else old son, because I don’t very much like
being accused of…’
‘Come off it, Hackett, who do you think you’re talking to? You hardly ever
get your hands dirty and you know it. Before long there’ll be forensics and medical
examiners (not to mention the media) jumping all over the place like fucking fleas…
and I hope you know I’ll have to make a press statement because of this shit…what in
God’s name am I going to tell people?’ There was a long silence as though Hackett
was trying to think of a reasonable answer.
‘Okay okay, so I sent some boys round there to teach that long-haired, greasy
bastard a lesson in respect…so what.’
‘Are you completely fucking mad Hackett, two innocent children are dead, do
you understand…dead, doesn’t that mean anything to you? And do you know it costs
the force thousands to deploy armed officers to this kind of scene?’
‘Oh keep the rest of your hair on Carlton, the bitch is still only young so it’s
not like she can’t have any more kids; they weren’t even Donohue’s anyway.’ Carlton
couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘Jesus Christ on a fucking crutch Hackett, you really don’t have any regard for
human life do you? This is just one big joke to you isn’t it?’
Hackett’s voice became aggressive.
‘Now you listen to me, I don’t give a shit what you tell people but just
remember why I pay you…to keep your fucking mouth shut because if I go down, so
help me I’ll drag all you bent bastards down with me. Now I’m going to Las Vegas
tonight instead of tomorrow and by the time I get back, I want this case closed, and
I’ll also inform that wanker Thornton of my demands. Do you understand?’
Carlton sighed.
‘No to be perfectly honest, I don’t understand…I don’t understand at all. What
the hell brought all this about?’
‘Those mad cunts Donohue and Mason barged into my office about two hours
ago and attacked me and some of my colleagues, one of them even had his fucking
eye gouged out. They even battered one of your mates, Will Harrison. Then they stole
my favourite jag, so don’t go preaching to me about right and wrong.’ Carlton glanced
at Williams, shaking his head.
‘I know you and Donohue have had your differences over the years, but it
stops now do you understand? We can’t have this kind of publicity…not after what’s
been happening lately. There’s people out there on the streets just itching for a riot
and this sort of crap doesn’t help. Your antics are just feeding the fire with more fuel.
We’re already up to our necks in shit investigating three murders as it is, now we’ve
got two more separate ones to look into thanks to you, and the one thing linking them
together is Donohue’s name. Jesus, lately I spend more time in that bastard incident
room than I do at home. The other night my wife thought I was a burglar when I tried
to get into bed.’ He drummed his fingers on his knee.
‘Have you heard of The People’s Lobby against Police Incompetence?’ There
was a long pause.
‘Yeah, so what have they got to do with me?’
‘Frank…there’s rumours flying around that you supply the mad bastards with
guns…’
‘So what…Bob, if people want to buy weapons from me (and I make a nice
hefty profit on the side) who the hell cares? I have arms importers all over the middle
east and Europe, and it’s very good merchandise. Call it a little sideline if you like.’
Carlton became even more frustrated.
‘Frank this isn’t a fucking game, you killed two kids man.’
‘Okay Bob old son, calm down.’
‘We’ve got to come up with some answers and fast, we’ve got to make
some arrests. That lot out there are almost at boiling point, they’re after our
blood…’
‘Oh come on Bob, they’re just a bunch of rabble-rousers, they haven’t got the
bollocks to start a riot. What the fuck are you so worried about?’
‘It’s a lot more serious than that; these bastards mean business. Do you
remember the Tyneside riots of 1991? If there’s another riot now it’ll make fourteen
years ago look like a romp in a nursery playground…no thanks to you selling firearms
to the idiots. Trouble’s been brewing for months and get this, there’s a hell of a lot
more of them and they’re more organised than they were years ago…Frank, some of
their chief members are politicians not to mention ex-coppers from this joke of a
force.’
Hackett interrupted as though he hadn’t listened.
‘None of this concerns me because I won’t even be here, now if you don’t
mind, my head is killing me because of that ginger prick, and I’ve got some packing
to do. I’ve also got to say farewell to the big fella and my wife…oh yeah…the kids
too.’
‘That’s right, Hackett, run away and leave everybody else to clean up your
mess as always,’ The Chief Inspector seethed. Hackett hung up.
Carlton turned to Williams exasperated.
‘I tell you, the bloke is a total fruitcake.’
‘So what do we do now?’ Williams asked before he used his inhaler.
‘I’ll have to get my arse in there and face the music, which I’m not looking
forward to,’ Carlton grumbled as he climbed out of the car and back into the cold, by
which time Cath was being carried towards the ambulance on a stretcher, muttering
incoherently to herself.
‘Poor bitch,’ Williams said under his breath, shaking his head.
Donohue still lurked in the doorway looking as pale as ever and the Chief
inspector wondered whether he was also in a state of shock.
‘We’re going to need a statement from you shortly Donohue, so if I was you
I’d buck your ideas up son.’
‘But I don’t know anything and anyway, I think you know exactly who’s
behind all this shit,’
‘Look, we know about the altercation with you and Hackett this afternoon.’
‘Who told you?’
‘It doesn’t matter...now what the hell happened?’
‘It’s a long story and to be honest I just haven’t got the energy right now, I
can’t think straight.’
Both detectives noticed the tears in his eyes; they knew he must be under
incredible strain but they had a job to do, even if they already knew most of the
answers to their questions. They led him to a patrol car followed by two more
detectives he didn’t recognise; he had no idea what rank they were – probably more
CID he thought.
‘You’d better go with them Harry, while I stay here and wait for the forensic
team and the rest of the idiots, I just hope Grice isn’t in one of his bloody moods.’
Carlton turned back to the house after his grumbling.
Donohue climbed into the back of the car; he rubbed the condensation from
the window and glanced at his house…his home. Tears blurred his vision as he
realised that he was experiencing the worse day of his life; he wished he was only
experiencing his worse nightmare but it was reality with no escape.
He thought about Dawn Howarth – the only positive reason in his life to stay
sane at the moment; he decided to try and call her from the station.
28 -- IT’S A PITY TWO BIRDS WEREN’T KILLED
WITH ONE STONE
PONTELAND, NORTHUMBERLAND:
It wasn’t long before Hackett’s taxi pulled into his drive. His ten-bedroom mansion
was visible long before the car came to a halt. Hackett peered out of the passenger
window, squinting into the darkness.
The taxi driver turned in his seat to wish him luck rather than even
contemplate asking for money – he knew him anyway, also knowing that when he
was in this kind of mood, to be as friendly as possible.
‘W…when you g…going to get a…an electric fence for your property?’
Hackett removed the ice pack from his head and glared at the driver with murderous
contempt.
‘If you dare ask me for money; then you’re very brave indeed, Kev…you
fucking arsehole. I’m going to have to leave you now and when I get out of this taxi, I
don’t want to see your crappy car still behind me when I turn round…or I swear on
my mother’s life I’ll…’
No sooner had he stepped from the vehicle, it screeched off into the distance,
leaving Hackett to stare after it with amusement. He wondered why the driver was so
frightened; then remembered he was injured so he put the ice pack back in place.
‘Fucking little prick,’ he muttered while he fumbled for his keys. Brute the
Rottweiler barked furiously at the other side of the front door.
‘It’s only me, you stupid mutt,’ he shouted when he swung the door open. The
dog leapt at its master, lapping at his face as though he’d been away for weeks.
‘What’s happened to you?’ Tricia his wife asked as she came into the huge
living room wearing skin-tight pink cycling shorts over a bright orange swimming
costume. The shocking lime-green trainers, which adorned her feet clashed even
louder. Hackett turned away in disgust, rubbing his bleary eyes. She was a short
plump woman of thirty-seven and she perspired profusely; it took Hackett a moment
to realise that she’d been working out in the basement gym
‘No need to worry, it’s nothing I can’t handle…everything’s under control
woman.’ He tossed the ice pack into the corner and raced towards the drinks cabinet
to pour himself a large whisky. He turned round sharply to face his wife; the blood
had now congealed on the side of his face.
‘Get upstairs and finish packing the rest of my things…I don’t need that
much…’
‘Oh just go and fuck yourself Francis, you fat ignorant bastard,’ his wife
replied uncaringly before the glass reached his lips. He hated it when she swore, to
him it was a kind of blasphemy grating against his imperialistic world. He slammed
his glass down and cleared his throat before spitting words at her as though they were
deadly weapons.
‘You’re calling me fat when you’re downstairs trying to lose weight yourself,
you stupid slut. Remember what happened last time you disrespected me? I’ll end up
battering the fucking bitch out of you if you carry on…slag.’
This time, she spun round furiously firing defensive words in retaliation.
‘I’m sick to death of all your fucking dodgy friends and plans; I’m not
frightened of you anymore’. She stormed into the spacious kitchen shouting
obscenities over her shoulder. He followed, enraged by her outburst and caught up
fast, tracing his facial scar with his finger before he spun her round sharply.
‘If I were you woman, I’d watch that mouth of yours because I’ve had it with
people mouthing off to me for one day.’
‘So what are you going to do Frank, hit me again? You might think you can
treat me like one of your villain friends but…’ He gave her a powerful backhander,
which sent her crashing to the ground loudly. She put her hand to her mouth
inspecting the fresh blood that trickled from her split lip.
‘You’re a fucking bully Frank,’ she hissed. He kicked her hard in the
abdomen, knocking the wind out of her. She writhed on the floor wheezing, her long
brown hair covered her face, hiding the agonised expression. He was about to strike
again when the doorbell rang prompting the dog to bark furiously.
‘That’ll be for me, now get yourself cleaned up and finish packing my
things…I left a list in the bathroom, now get a fucking move on.’
He answered the door to three of his hulking brothers: Darren, Donald and
Derek – they were triplets, four years younger than Hackett. Donald was the
temporary replacement driver for Davey Dawson. The fourth member of the group
was Johnny Skinner, whom Hackett had entrusted to be the shooter earlier that
afternoon.
The triplets were almost identical in every way, height, weight, dark crew-
cuts, evil grey eyes. They even wore exactly the same immaculate dark blue Armani
suits. The only way of telling them apart was from their different facial scars.
‘Wha-hey, come on in lads, how’s it going? That was a good job you did for
me today. It’s a pity three birds weren’t killed with one stone; that ginger prick’s still
out there and I’m not too chuffed about it. Not to worry though because I’ve decided
to leave for the States tonight so we’d better make this brief.’
‘I thought you said you were going tomorrow,’ Derek said anxiously.
‘I thought it best to get an earlier flight in order to expand my business
empire.’ Hackett led them through the spacious foyer to the living room; he turned in
confusion when he reached the drinks cabinet.
‘Where the hell’s that skinny little prick?’
‘He’s still in the hall…your dog’s guarding him,’ Darren laughed. Hackett
stormed back to the foyer, where Skinner cowered in the corner a mere foot away
from the snarling Rottweiler – he looked understandably terrified.
‘Brute, come here boy…now,’ Hackett commanded. The dog reluctantly
turned to its master and whimpered. He grabbed the thick studded leather collar and
led the dog into a nearby utility room, ignoring its irritating whining.
‘Fucking hell Frank, why does that dog of yours hate me so much?’ Skinner
moaned.
‘Because you’re a fucking horrible bastard, now shut it and get in there.’
There were six burgundy Chesterfields in the living room. Everybody chose a
seat as Hackett poured them each a whisky.
‘How’s the kids, Frank?’ Derek asked referring to his three sons aged between
six and nine.
‘Well you know, Des, they grow up so damn fast don’t they? Anyway, is there
any news on Mason and my Jag?’
‘Nothing yet I’m afraid, but we’re working on it,’ Donald replied with a glint
in his eye, while Hackett inspected the swelling on his left temple again. Christ
it was sore, he thought angrily.
‘You might as well leave him until I get back now; he’s last on my list of
priorities at the moment and…’
Skinner unwittingly decided to interrupt.
‘Why don’t we just go over there and sort the bastard out? At the end of the
day, he’s the reason we’re all in this mess in the first place.’
Hackett briefly wondered how many beatings it would take before this
horrible little man learned anything. He could tell he’d taken a fair amount of coke by
the largeness of his pupils, the redness of his nose and the speed of his words.
‘Listen to me you prick, nobody and I mean nobody, makes a move on
anybody until I give the go ahead, and that goes for the rest of the family and crew.’
He lit a King Edward, and glanced at the wall clock, it was 8:07pm and his flight was
11:45pm. Skinner spoke again.
‘I’m the one who did the shooting so I should at least have a say about what
happens.’
Donald decided to intervene.

‘The only reason you did the shooting, is because that’s the only thing you’re
good at, and you can’t even drive so shut it.’
‘Well I’m taking lessons and my test is nearly due…’
‘You’ll never pass your test if you get lost even when you’re a passenger on a
fucking bus,’ Derek mused. Hackett became irritated.
‘All right, shut it everybody, I’m sick of this shit. Now look Darren, I’m
leaving you in charge while I’m away and keep your eye out for that prick Johnson,
he’s up to something I just know it.’
‘Where the hell is he Frank? Nobody’s seen him since Tuesday,’ Derek asked.
Hackett sighed and put his hand to his battered head.
‘I don’t know where the bastard’s hiding, but just remember one thing…watch
your backs everybody because he’s a liability. He’s a dead man walking, and
somebody in his position can be very dangerous.’ Skinner decided to speak again.
‘But Frank, what about Donohue? I’d say he’s more dangerous, I mean
especially now his girlfriend’s kids have bit the bullet.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that ginger prick if I was you, that fat cunt Williams
rang me from the station earlier and informed me that Donohue’s virtually a broken
man. Apparently he keeps blaming himself for today’s killings, and I must say that I
agree with him. You can’t go around displaying that level of disrespect without some
kind of comeback.’ He was about to say something else when his wife came into the
living room struggling with two bulging suitcases.
‘I thought you weren’t taking much on this bloody trip,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Stop moaning woman, be thankful I’m not taking any suits; I’ll be buying
some new ones while I’m out there.’
‘Hello Trish, how are you?’ The triplets asked as one.

‘I’m all right, but I must be married to the only bloke on earth who has a
bigger wardrobe than me.’
‘Run me a bath…I tell you, I could do with one after the day I’ve had,’
Hackett demanded.
Tricia hated her husband’s unpredictable moods – especially when they were
alone, for that’s when he was usually handy with his fists, and he was definitely
getting worse lately. She left the room smirking to herself, hoping that at last (judging
by his mood and appearance) somebody today had actually got the better of him.
Some days he could be a loving father and husband, other days though…he could be a
real bastard towards her. She often thought about leaving him; sometimes she would
weigh up the good points against the bad, and they were always equal. For some
unknown reason she did actually love him, and most of the time she hated
herself for it.
‘Any news on Davey and the others,’ Donald asked.
Hackett poured himself another drink.
‘I rang the hospital and they’re being a bit cagey about things, so I asked
Carlton to look into it. He’s in a pretty bad way, he’ll be out of action for a while.
Jesus man, he’s got a fractured skull, a broken arm and he’ll probably lose one of his
balls thanks to that arsehole Donohue. How the fuck did he manage to batter
somebody like Davey as if he was…nothing? I didn’t know he had it in him. As for
Les, he’ll be walking around with a glass eye for the rest of his natural. Chris has a
shattered jaw, Harrison and Billy have concussion. In fact, they’re the only two apart
from me who didn’t need hospital treatment.’
‘I like the way you didn’t even mention my name, I was there too you know
Frank,’ Skinner whined much to Hackett’s annoyance.

‘Don’t worry, you little prick, if you really want to visit casualty, believe me it
can be arranged…now shut it or I swear on my mother’s life, I’ll saw your arms off,
bake them in the fucking oven and feed them to the big fella.’
‘What about you Frank? It looks like you took quite a nasty knock on the
head,’ Derek’s voice was quiet as he finishing his whisky.
‘I wouldn’t be worrying about me, I’ve had a hell of a lot worse in the past.’
His wife suddenly appeared in the doorway.
‘Your bath’s ready, Oh Great One.’
Hackett chose to ignore the sarcastic tone. He got his feet wearily.
‘Listen lads, I hate to be rude but I’m going to have to kick you all out now; I
really do have to get ready.’ He led them to the front door, screwing his eyes up at the
sound of the dog barking in the utility room – his head seemed to getting worse by the
minute.
‘Shut the fuck up in there Brute,’ he shouted banging on the door.
‘Now remember, keep the crew on their toes and if anything happens, pick up
the phone; I’ll be at the Caesars Palace Hotel. He wrote down the long number before
embracing his three brothers in turn. He turned to Skinner.
‘You keep from under people’s feet, and stay out of trouble you little fucking
prick. Just remember lads, if that bastard Johnson so much as farts, I want to hear
about it, and keep a close eye on Bennett and Donohue.’ He closed the door and
climbed the stairs unsteadily.
‘I suppose you’re going to carry on where you left off are you, Frank?’ Tricia
stood at the end of the hall.
‘Please Trish, I’m not in the mood and I’m in a hurry.’ She moved down the
hall towards him; she was about to descend the stairs when he grabbed her arm. He
glared at her for a long time before speaking.
‘I love you to bits Trish, and I would never do anything to hurt you…you do
know that don’t you?’
29 -- TIME IS A GREAT HEALER
WINLATON, TYNE & WEAR:
It had been over a week until the bodies could be released for the funeral. The waiting
had been a trying time for all concerned.
Donohue tried to convince himself that he might actually find solace in the
church earlier – he found nothing but overwhelming guilt and grief. He constantly felt
the accusatory glares from all angles, forcing him to keep his head down most of the
time. Cath had been reluctant to let go of the two tiny coffins; she had to be dragged
away screaming in the end, and he’d never seen her in such a state in all the time he’d
known her, but then he’d never known anybody who’d lost their only children in such
a cruel and unnatural manner before – except Johnson.
The service was over and a sizable amount of mourners had gone to Josephine
Elliott’s, Cath’s mother’s house for drinks and sandwiches. Plenty of alcohol was
consumed but hardly anybody ate.
Conversations were low and murmured, Cath sat in the corner of the living
room in a semi-catatonic state. She’d been prescribed a course of tranquillisers and
anti-depressants, which she’d been verbally forced to take. She seemed beyond all
help and stared wild-eyed into space. He decided to retreat to the conservatory (which
was gladly empty) to gather his thoughts.
Dawn Howarth glanced round the room and noticed that everybody seemed to
be pre-occupied in their miserable conversations, so after a couple of minutes,
she also made for the conservatory.
‘Hello stranger, how’s it going?’ Her voice startled him even though he was
slightly aware of the glass door opening. He turned around to face her and she was
aghast by his gaunt appearance and blood-shot eyes.
‘Hiya babe, I…I was miles away.’
‘Miles away…Tom, you look like you’re in another galaxy. When was the last
time you had a good night’s sleep or a decent meal?’ Her loud and grating words
turned into a quiet sympathetic voice when she noticed he was close to tears.
‘God Tom, come here my love…don’t worry, I’m here for you…I’ll always be
here for you…forever, you know that don’t you my love?’
They embraced tightly as never before, sobbing together, trying to form
words, but none came forth for long moments until Dawn eventually said something
refreshingly audible.
‘I love you Tom, I’ll do anything for you and I hope you know that, because
my heart is breaking, and…Tom…I really do love you so much…if you ever need
anybody for anything…there’s always little ole’ me’, she said between sniffs. She
pulled away abruptly, gripping his shoulders. Her own tearful eyes stared lovingly
into his.
‘Look sweetheart, I’m not going to say the usual crap like I know what you’re
going through…because I don’t. Whatever it is though, I’m your best friend no matter
what happens, and I don’t give a shit about anybody else in there,’ she nodded
towards the glass door.
‘Neither do I,’ he said groggily. They wrapped their arms tightly around each
other again. They kissed desperately, realising that as usual, time wasn’t on their side.
Suddenly, neither of them cared.
‘I’ve missed you so much Tom, and I know it sounds bloody stupid, but…’
The door opened. Alan Elliott stood staring menacingly with hands on hips.
‘I wondered where you’d gone. What the hell are you doing out here cuddling
up to him? he’s the cause of this whole mess.’
Dawn broke away from Donohue sharply and advanced towards her brutal
boyfriend; jabbing a finger at him as though he was worse than rubbish.
‘Take a good look, Alan, take a bloody good look…look at him for God’s
sake.’ She grabbed the right sleeve of his blazer and pulled him to the floor. For once
her anger got the better of him. She sat astride him, her hands squeezed his neck,
with all her might.
‘Do you know how much I hate you, you fucking arsehole?’ She screamed
into his face as she began to slam his head repeatedly onto the floor. She attempted to
head butt him, but he pushed her to one side like a sack of air. He rose to his feet
shouting venomously at her, ignoring Donohue, who was shocked and transfixed by
the unbelievable scene before him. She jumped to her feet and lunged for him again;
he grabbed her arms, pushing her into the nearest chair.
‘You want to get a grip woman…realise which side your bread’s buttered,
you stupid bitch,’ he shouted. This time Donohue moved forward, he almost ran his
hands through his hair; then remembered it was tied back. He was about to say
something but Elliot beat him to it, thrusting his forefinger inches from his face.
‘My sister has had to bury her two sons today…my nephews, and all you can
do is mope around feeling sorry for yourself. I wouldn’t care, it’s all your bloody fault
anyway, isn’t it you miserable bastard?’ He turned to Dawn; she still sat with hatred
burning in her eyes, she gripped the arms of the chair so tightly, that two of her nails
broke. She slowly got to her feet and stared murderously into his eyes.
‘You just bloody leave him alone Alan…I’m warning you…’ He stood with
hands on hips again.
‘What the hell are you going to do about it if I don’t?’ He backed off however,
intimidated by her malevolent attitude – she’d never displayed it before now. She
pointed to Donohue, who now sat on the two-seater bamboo couch.
‘Don’t you think he’s been through enough in the last week or so?’
‘God woman, you’re acting like you’re fucking him or something…’ he
paused when her expression changed to guilt noticeably. He shot a quick glance
towards Donohue, whose head was buried in his hands.
‘My God, you are fucking him aren’t you?’ He asked incredulously.
By now, the commotion had attracted a few mourners, including Josephine
Elliott.
‘What’s going on in here? What the hell is all the shouting about?’ Her voice
was quiet but harsh.
She was a plump, short woman in her fifties with collar-length dark blonde
hair speckled with grey, her pale blue beady eyes looked on in confusion. Elliott
shook his head and stormed back into the living room; he approached Cath, who
hadn’t changed position.
‘Did you know that your precious boyfriend has been banging that slag of a
partner of mine for God knows how long?’
She slowly looked upwards until her confused eyes met her brother’s. He
turned as Dawn, followed by Josephine re-entered the living room.
‘Here she is now…ask her if you don’t believe me,’ he said with an evil grin.
Cath got to her feet.
‘What’s he talking about?’ She asked wearily, pointing to her brother. The
look of horror on Dawn’s face was impossible to disguise.
‘Is it true?’ Cath asked, even though she already knew the answer. Dawn
stared in awe at the dangerous situation unfolding before her; her words came out in
high-pitched wails.
‘You arsehole, you just couldn’t resist could you? This is her kids funeral in
case you didn’t know, and you had to tell her something like that.’ She approached
Alan Elliott (who she’d never hated as much as she did at this moment), and slapped
him hard across the face, failing to wipe away his smugness. She only succeeded in
making him look even more smug, for he knew they couldn’t deny it now.
‘Will somebody please tell me what’s going on?’ Cath’s mother shouted as
Donohue suddenly appeared amidst the gathering spectators. Elliott glanced to his
Mother intently and his smugness turned to malice.
‘You want to know what’s going on? Well it’s this simple, those two have
been having an affair behind my sister’s back. God I knew you were at it with
somebody girl, but…him?’
‘Is this true Tom?’ Cath asked. Dawn answered first.
‘Yes Cath, it’s true and we honestly didn’t want you to find out like
this…never in a million years.’ Cath slowly sank back into her chair and hunched
forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The silence hung in the air as people glared
on in shocked fascination.
‘How long has it been going on?’ Cath asked quietly. Donohue moved
forward and spoke nervously.
‘Just a few months or something but…’
Dawn interrupted him loudly; she turned to glance at as many people in the
room as she could.
‘Yes everybody, you might as well know…me and Tom have been having an
affair for eight months, and I’m not in the least bit proud or ashamed of it, and what’s
more, I don’t give a damn about what anybody thinks about it…so there you have it.’
‘I think you’d better leave, both of you,’ Josephine said evenly. Dawn turned
to face Cath, pointing at Alan Elliott.
‘Listen Cath, we were going to tell you, but not like this. I mean come on…’
‘Get out,’ Cath said barely above a whisper. Donohue knelt beside her chair;
he looked imploringly into her eyes.
‘Look babe, this isn’t how it looks…I mean it wasn’t planned or anything like
that…’
‘GET OUT,’ she repeated in a scream that made him flinch and fall
backwards. He quickly got to his feet and hurried towards the front door; Dawn
followed close behind.

‘Just a minute, you forgot something.’ Cath’s voice stopped them in their
tracks. They both turned to face her as she quickly approached. Dawn held out her
hands in front of her as a gesture of resignation, she began to speak, but Cath punched
her full in the mouth sending her reeling and halting any words.
‘You forgot to take that, you fucking bitch.’ She scowled at Donohue before
retreating back to her chair. Her brother stood laughing heartily at Dawn, who was
picking herself up from the floor, aided by Donohue. They turned to head for the door
again, but Elliott couldn’t let go; he shoved Donohue from behind, making him turn
round abruptly.
‘Listen you arsehole, you might think you’re a big man because you’ve been
in the army, and you can hit women, but I’d watch it if I was you sunshine.’ He
headed for the front door again until Elliott punched him in the back of the head,
making him turn round angrily.
‘You better lay off me Alan son, or I won’t be very happy. I don’t like
violence, so don’t goad me otherwise I’ll have to make an example of you.’ They
stared into each other’s eyes intently before he eventually made for the front door
again, only to be distracted by another punch, this time in the square of his back. He
turned round again, slower this time.
‘Come on Tom, let’s just go,’ Dawn said nervously. He ignored her and glared
at Elliott for a long time before he spoke; when he did, his voice was barely a
whisper.
‘Listen to me you fucking wank splash, I’m a pacifist, so I don’t really want to
hurt you…so back off. Fighting is a mug’s game.’ Donohue eventually managed to
open the front door. Elliott pushed his luck even further though; he yanked his hair
from behind, pulling him back into the corridor. Donohue tried his best to keep calm.
He stared at him angrily.
‘You’d better stop this shit before you go too far Alan lad…I’m warning you.
I really don’t want to fight you.’ By now they were back in the living room.
‘I know why too you miserable bastard, because it would mean you’re in the
fucking wrong wouldn’t it?’
Mourners began to inch ever closer – Josephine among them; she shook her
head speechless. Donohue decided to speak again, but this time his voice was
sarcastic as he looked him up and down.
‘Oh just listen to Mr Moralistic, the stand up guy who can only achieve an
orgasm by hurting females. Do yourself a favour Alan…stay well out of my
way…and Dawn’s.’ Elliott spat in his face.
‘Just fuck off will you, we don’t need you…any of you.’
‘Well that’s fair enough Alan, so I’ll just be on my way then.’ He wiped the
spit from his face.’
He roughly and hastily dragged Dawn outside. They almost stumbled over the
threshold before he slammed the front door behind him loudly. She rummaged in her
handbag searching for a tissue with which to wipe her bloody lips.
‘Nice little speech back there. Don’t you think you could’ve been a bit more
subtle?’ Donohue’s voice was filled with bitter sarcasm as he reached his Lexus.
‘Well what did you expect, more lies? Tom, at least now the truth is out…’
He turned round swiftly.
‘You just don’t get it do you? My life is collapsing all around me like the
world trade centre in slow motion, and you’ve just made everything worse…you’re
the third plane.’ He climbed into the driver’s seat, shaking his head vigorously. He
screwed his eyes so tightly shut, that he saw stars. His shoulder still ached and the
fingers on his right hand were still numb from the knife wound over a week earlier.
Dawn stood dabbing her lips; he noticed her shivering violently beneath her dark blue
suit and wondered why she hadn’t chose to wear an overcoat. He knew she owned
two, for he’d bought her both two-and-a-half months ago. Her skirt barely covered her
knees.
‘Are you getting in or what?’ he asked resignedly.
‘I was waiting for an invite,’ she uttered as she slid onto the passenger seat and
closed the door. He started the car when Josephine Elliott appeared on the doorstep.
‘Where are you going to stay?’ he asked wearily.
‘Well I can’t go home now can I? I’ll have to stay at Brenda’s until I get
sorted.’
‘I’ll take you there after I’ve been to my place because I need to get out of this
stupid suit; it stinks of depression.’
‘But Tom, that’s where Peter and Danny…’
‘Don’t worry, it’s all been cleaned up as much as it can be and lightning
doesn’t strike twice in the same place. It’s my house and I don’t think Cath will ever
set foot in the place again.’
‘I didn’t mean that, it’s just that…I’m going to feel uneasy going in there.
Can’t I just wait in the car?’
He stared into her eyes.
‘How do you think I feel? I’ve got to live there, and all I can hear are those
bloody gunshots, those…screams.’
He suddenly pulled in to the side of the road, turning the engine off. He buried
his head in his arms
‘Fucking hell Dawn, how the hell has it come to this?’ She put her arms
around him, hugging him tightly.
‘Come on, let it all out. I know it’s been tough but I’m here and I’ll help you
as much as I can. I love you more than anything else in the world…you know that
don’t you? I mean look at it this way…I know Cath’s two sons are…but…time is a
great healer.’
He suddenly pulled away from her, staring straight ahead. His words came out
in a bitter torrent.
‘Time is a great healer is it? Well I tell you what then pet, Cath’s going to
need all infinity to get over this disaster then isn’t she? I’ll have the bastard’s balls in
chilli sauce for this I’m fucking telling you; he won’t get away with any of this shit…
he’s living on borrowed time…’
‘Tom…what the bloody hell are you on about?
He looked deep into her eyes.
‘I’m talking about the cunt that’s responsible for this mess, and by Christ he’ll
pay…if I don’t get to him first, somebody else will and it won’t be long before he
runs out of friends.’
‘Tom…who for God’s sake?’
He turned away, rubbing his eyes while contemplating a suitable answer – he
found none, so he started the engine.
‘I think we should stay away from each other for a few weeks because I’ve got
to sort a load of stuff out and I don’t want any complications.’ She threw her head
back and let out a long sigh.
‘Even now when the two of us are out in the open and everybody knows about
us, you still think I’m an inconvenience. Tom, I only want to help but you’re not
helping either of us by talking in riddles…and…talking and acting like you’re in

some sort of bloody danger.’
‘I’ll drive you to Brenda’s; then you’re on your own for a while babe…I’m
sorry, but there’s things I’ve got to do before we can see each other again.’
‘There you go again, shoving me to one side instead of talking to me.’
‘Please Dawn, just do as I ask.’
‘Tom, is this it? I mean…You will contact me when you’re ready won’t you? I
don’t want to be your live-in girlfriend’s pain in the arse, but…’ her voice broke off
into tears. He swiftly attempted to turn at a sharp bend, but he was speeding, so he
misjudged the turning point and careered across the road to plough through the
nearest garden wall. The car luckily stopped two-feet short of the front of the house.
He leant forward to peer through the windscreen, which was now spider-webbed and
bent inward at an awkward angle, threatening to buckle at any moment to shower
them both with safety glass.
He could just make out a couple who looked to be in their thirties, holding
steadily onto three young children, staring through the living room window. The
family were shocked and speechless. Donohue tried to be as friendly as he could by
smiling and waving at the mortified occupants.
‘Shit…I think we’d better go before these people pick up a phone.’
He quickly glanced behind, put the car in reverse and attempted to clear the
gap in the wall through which he’d smashed – but not accurately enough. The left-
hand rear light shattered as he reversed into a jagged part of the broken wall.
‘Shit, I can’t see a thing,’ he seethed as he accelerated forward, before
reversing again. This time the car cleared the gap, squealed full circle in the road, and
roared off into the distance.
‘Please Dawn, I know you love me but we have to stay apart for now…please
pet, trust me on this one.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
He stared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to the road
ahead, not bothering to view the devastation he’d left behind – he knew the crooked
police had more pressing issues to play with.
‘None of us have a choice this time,’ he replied evenly.
30 -- NO TURNING BACK
Cath Elliott guided the Nissan Almera steadily at a medium speed along almost-empty
roads and streets; she didn’t know where she was going or why she was driving at this
ridiculous time of night – she didn’t care. She just drove endlessly and aimlessly into
the cold darkness, haunted by the terrible images and memories of her two dead sons.
She stared straight ahead impassively, wondering why she wasn’t hurting like she
should be. She also felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, which seemed to eat away at
her very soul and she couldn’t understand why; maybe it was because she didn’t take
heed of Donohue’s stark warning on the day of the tragedy. Perhaps it was because of
the lack of remorse she felt. She knew that she should be feeling more grief than this.
The disastrous funeral had been and gone two days earlier and now she was a
lone drifter heading for an unknown destination. She knew one thing for sure though,
she was never going back to her mother’s or Donohue’s – not after what she had
planned. She’d left her prescription tablets behind; she could’ve used them right about
now – all of them. God how she wanted so much to end it all. If there was a heaven
(which she doubted) maybe she could meet her sons when she arrived. She quickly
dismissed the thought of taking an overdose, for she had an even better idea.
She turned eastwards and headed towards the coast. Hailstones began to strike
the car from all angles with considerable force; the sudden pelting did little to distract
her from her thoughts. She suddenly found herself at Whitburn. She lit a cigarette and
contemplated her next move as she stopped the car. She dragged slowly on her
cigarette and stared through the blurred windscreen, wondering which was the highest
point above sea- level. She began to sing gently to herself.
‘We wish you a merry Christmas…we wish you a merry Christmas…’ The
rat-a-tat thrashing of the hailstones grew louder and more fierce; drowning out her
pathetic child-like voice.
‘And a happy new…year…great tidings we bring…’ She glanced at the
dashboard clock; it was 11:52 pm. Christmas day was over with and it was the worse
one she’d ever had to endure. Danny and Peter’s presents still lay under the tree at her
mother’s, for that’s where they’d planned to spend the festivities…her so-called
boyfriend…damn him. She wished she could make him pay somehow. She couldn’t
understand how she didn’t see the signs – not even so much as a hint of their sordid
affair.
She opened the door and stepped from the car; oblivious to the stinging hail on
her face. She stared skywards and omitted a long scream, which would’ve been
deafening had it not been for the howling weather.
‘Why did you let this happen you bastard? How could you do this to me, what
did I ever do that was…so…bad?’ Her screams turned to sobs as she sunk to her
knees onto the cold grass verge – her grief had finally hit home with a bang. She
remained in the same position for another fifty-five minutes until the cold forced her
to her feet.
She seemed to walk for ever until at last, she reached the cliff edge.
‘There’s no turning back now,’ she repeated over and over as she pulled her
raincoat tightly around her and stared into the lapping water below, wondering how
far down the tide was. She teetered on the very edge knowing exactly what she had to
do – she wasn’t nervous, just determined.

31 -- SINCE WHEN’S IT BEEN A CRIME TO
BURGLE YOUR OWN HOUSE?
GATESHEAD,TYNE & WEAR:
Donohue had spent the last two nights sleeping in his office at The Lion’s Den; the
Smith & Wesson 45 calibre XVR never more than a few inches away from his grasp.
Mason had insisted he stayed at his place but he declined, wanting to keep an
eye on his pub at every opportunity. He didn’t sleep well at all, especially the
previous night when every creaking sound caused by the wind, jolted him from his
nightmarish slumber.
He couldn’t understand why there’d been no trouble of any kind yet. Why
Cath’s Café and not his own place? Maybe Hackett had realised he’d actually gone
too far this time. The thought was a fleeting one, for he knew that Hackett wouldn’t
even dream about showing the slightest bit of remorse. He was in America, far
removed from the trouble he’d caused everybody.
He sat upright and stretched his aching limbs. His desk was piled high with
empty pizza boxes and mackerel tins. The time was 12:21pm and the place was open
for business as usual. His mobile rang loudly – it was Dawn and this time he didn’t
curse. He actually wanted to hear her voice and to know that she was safe, so he
hastily answered.
‘Hello Dawn…God I’ve been thinking about…’ his voice trailed off.
‘Listen Tom, I can stay at Brenda’s until I get sorted, and I do understand
we’ve got to be apart for bloody ages…I can accept that but…’
He didn’t let her finish.
‘Babes, you don’t have to pretend to be chuffed about our…unhappy
arrangement, but when we get together one day as a couple; that’s when we’ll be
happy…we’ll have kids and live happily ever after.’
‘Oh Tom…you should hear yourself sometimes. We haven’t got that much
time as you keep pointing out. This whole thing is driving me crazy anyway…’
He crept to the office door and put his ear to it before he replied.
‘What do you mean this whole…thing?’
‘Tom, I’m in turmoil here you know…what can I do man? I bloody love you
so much…what do you suggest we do?’
‘I…I know you do, but Dawn pet, there are things…’ his voice trailed off
again when he heard a loud crashing sound from below. He was about to head
downstairs, but paused when his hand touched the door-handle. Maybe the trouble has
already started in the pub at last, he thought despairingly.
He wrenched open the door and rushed down the stairs; mobile in one hand,
revolver in the other. When he entered the bar, Henshall was busy throwing out a
group of troublesome youths while Mason looked on in amusement. Donohue shook
his head before making his way back to his office.
‘Tom, are you still there?’ Dawn asked impatiently.
‘Yeah, I’m still here. There was just a bit of bother downstairs but I think it’s
all sorted now. As I said earlier, just sit tight and be patient because as you know,
there’s a hell of a lot of shit that has to blow over before we can be a real couple, and
be free to do what the hell we want.’
Her voice was quiet when she interrupted.
‘Be honest here…how much do you care about the two of us?’
Donohue stared at the door and frowned; his speech was abrupt and tinged
with slurred tiredness.
‘Listen Dawn, a few weeks ago my life was pretty bearable, until a few
hoodies changed the whole course of it. Why do you think I had to go to
Amsterdam?’ He held the phone away from his head briefly when she interrupted
with a series of shouts before he continued.
‘Dawn…will you just calm down and let me finish please…I’m trying to tell
you something here. Cath has lost her two kids…violently and she probably blames
me. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for fuck knows who. Christ, I can’t even
go home because every time I step over the threshold, that night hits me in the face
like a hundred punches at once from Lennox Lewis. I know I’ve got to go back
though; there’s stuff in there that I have to get because I need it. An old friend has
recently escaped from a mental hospital and is probably heading this way. My kid
brother is wanted for murder, my house is about to be repossessed and to cap all that,
I’ve got to visit my sick mother today. Now Dawn, at this moment in time, I feel like
my life can’t possibly slip any further down the sewer than it has already has. Right
now you’re not quite on the top of my priority list…I’m sorry.’
There was a long pause before she replied.
‘Okay love, I’m sorry and I understand all that. Look…I…I know I’ve been
quite selfish lately, but I just don’t want you to go through everything on your own…I
just want to be able to take some of the burden from you that’s all. Tom…if only you
knew how much I love you…please don’t be a stranger for too long, and please
please, stay in touch no matter what happens…please.’
‘Don’t worry darling, I will I promise; that’s if I live long enough. By the way
gorgeous, don’t you ever call yourself selfish, I’m the one who’s being selfish lately,
and I’m ashamed of it.’
‘Oh come on, don’t talk like that Tom babe…the two of us could be a dream
couple if we put our minds to it.’
‘We will be…listen I’m going to have to go because I’ve got loads of things to
do and I really don’t know where to start. I’ll definitely keep you up to speed with
everything though.’
‘Okay my love. Look after yourself and…be careful…please. Remember one
thing…I love you.’
He knew she was weeping again; his own eyes also became moist.
‘I know you do Dawn babes, and I think a hell of a lot of you too.’ He hung up
and wiped his eyes.
He picked up the revolver, tucked it in his waistband and headed downstairs to
the bar.
‘Are you okay mate? You don’t look too good,’ Henshall asked.
‘Yeah I just feel a bit tired that’s all. Listen, there’s a few things I need to do
so make sure everything ticks over nicely round here. Just call me if there’s any sign
of trouble.’ He bade his friends farewell and left the pub. He climbed into the black
BMW 5 series, which he’d borrowed from Mason.
It didn’t take him long to reach his house even though he drove as carefully as
he could, but something wasn’t right, he could sense it. He didn’t notice the front door
was slightly ajar until he reached it. His first thought was Cath; then he saw the
splintered door frame. He glanced around at the quiet street before he pulled the gun
from his waistband and inched slowly across the threshold.
When he reached the living room, he stared in awe at the disarray. Furniture
lay upturned, items from drawers and cupboards were strewn erratically across the
place.
After he’d cautiously checked the kitchen, he headed towards his beloved
music room at the end of the hall, and breathed a sigh of relief when he opened the
door – nothing was out of place. He then peered into the toilet through the open door
for good measure before he crept slowly upstairs.
Each creaky stair made him cringe as he inched his way upwards, for he didn’t
know if he’d disturbed the bastards and now they were lying in wait, ready to pounce.
They’d get a bigger shock than him though. He pulled back the hammer on the
revolver; the sound was deafening in the stillness. He finally reached the top stair and
turned on the landing light. He checked first Danny’s, then Peter’s room – nothing
had been touched. He turned on the bathroom light, still nothing. Only one room left,
he thought with relief and dread at the same time. He noticed the door to the master
bedroom to be slightly ajar.

He stood for ages, straining his ears. His free hand now trembled as he was
about to slowly push the door open.
He almost had a heart attack as he heard a loud crash from downstairs. Then
he remembered that he’d left the front door open; it had obviously slammed due to the
wind.
‘Shit,’ he mumbled before he rushed into the bedroom and turned on the light.
It was in the same state as the living room. One thing caught his attention though,
his top bedside drawer had been wrenched open. Without hesitation, he rushed
towards it knowing what to expect. His fear was confirmed – his Glock 17 was gone,
along with the magazines of ammunition. He kicked the cabinet in frustration, causing
the empty drawer to fall to the floor.
Then he remembered his 12-gauge Bignotti sawn-off shotgun. He grabbed the
stool from in front of the dressing table and used it as a makeshift step ladder to check
the top of his wardrobe – it was also gone, as well as three boxes of cartridges.
‘Oh no,’ he whispered in awe. He sat on the bed shaking his head, smiling
humourlessly. He immediately thought of Detective Inspector Tony Johnson and
stopped smiling.
‘What the hell is he going to do with my guns…start a bloody war?’
The thought suddenly hit him like a mallet: he had more than a few enemies
now; any of Hackett’s goons could be responsible. Why take his guns though? To
render him defenceless? It didn’t make sense. Then there was Alan Elliot. Why the
hell would he take his guns? Cath could easily have told him where they were, he
knew that much. He thought about it for a moment before he came to the conclusion
that Elliot was all mouth and wouldn’t have the guts to use them…he could’ve taken
them to the police out of spite. How would he explain where he got them from? He
couldn’t really admit to burglary.
He buried his head in his hands and thought hard for a few minutes. He
eventually lifted his head slowly as he remembered something that made his blood
run cold: Bobby Smith was still at large. In fact, he was mentioned on the news
yesterday. Apparently there’d been a sighting as far North as Bishop Auckland. He
also knew where Donohue lived…he also had an idea he could have…weapons.
Paranoia gripped him again as names and faces went round-and-round in his
head like a painful merry-go-round. The images disappeared when his mobile rang.
How he hated his ring tone lately. He glanced at the display and couldn’t quite
place the number. He was surprised when he realised it was Josephine Elliott.
‘H…hello, how’s Cath?’ He cleared his throat and repeated the question but
she interrupted harshly.
‘Well I thought you might be able to tell me that Thomas.’
‘What do you mean?’ He asked confused.
‘What I mean is she’s been missing for two days and I’m at the police station
right now identifying her things…’
‘Wait a minute…slow down, what are you talking about…missing?’
She shouted her reply.
‘She went out two nights ago and she never returned; her car’s been recovered
along with some of her belongings. Do you want me to spell it out for you? She could
be bloody dead, you ignoramus.’
‘Look Jo, I haven’t seen her since the funeral… I swear.’
‘Well it looks like there could be another funeral on the cards now doesn’t it?
You might not know where she is, but this is all your fault all the same isn’t it?’
He became impatient.
‘Wait a minute, you can’t just go round accusing…’
Her ranting continued.
‘I knew you were trouble the moment you came into her life and I regret the
day she moved in with you…you have to destroy everything around you don’t you?
Don’t worry, I might bloody believe you but the police will have you in for
questioning anyway.’ She hung up. He stared at his mobile aghast before he returned
it to his pocket.
He leapt to his feet and rushed down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
He hadn’t noticed how cold the ground floor was until now; then he remembered the
broken front door.
He suddenly felt dizzy and even colder when he stood in the living room
doorway, knowing that he was looking at a crime scene. He turned away sharply.
He fancied a joint but he remembered taking the skunk to his pub a few days ago. He
thought the police might have stumbled upon it, but he realised that forensics
wouldn’t be looking for drugs.
He turned back to the living room to observe the devastation again. The first
thing he did when police had left was phone a glazier; then he changed his mind and
settled on metal sheeting. Better safe than sorry, he thought.
He was about to head for the kitchen to see if the fridge contained any lager or
cider when he heard voices beyond the front door. Footsteps too, coming up the drive.
He quickly rushed into the downstairs toilet as he recognised the voices: they
belonged to DI Harry Williams and DS Colin Davis, he was sure of it. He hid the
revolver in the cupboard beneath the sink before flushing the toilet.
When he reached the front door, the two policemen were already in the hall.
He pretended to look startled.

‘What’s been going on here, Donohue?’ Williams asked as he entered the
living room.
‘I lost my keys so I broke in…since when’s it been a crime to burgle your own
house? Anyway, I suppose this is about Cath. Her mother rang me with the news a
few minutes ago actually, and I’ll tell you the same thing as I told her…I haven’t seen
her for days.’
‘Well you can tell us again…at the station,’ Williams replied abruptly.
Davis tried a different approach
‘I think it’s b…best if you accompany us to…’
‘Just get your arse out to the car Donohue,’ Williams snapped.
As the car pulled away, Detective Inspector Tony Johnson sat in his own black
car some distance up the street from the house. His wild bloodshot eyes never left the
vehicle until it had vanished from sight.
He put a Balmoral Superking between his cracked lips and searched his
pockets for a lighter, he eventually gave up and used the dashboard to light it. He took
a long swig of Bells from his hip flask and grimaced as the fiery liquid scorched his
throat, but that grimace soon turned into an evil grin.
‘I’ll have you, Donohue you bastard…I’ll have you,’ he hissed and patted the
cold steel of the automatic pistol in his jacket pocket before he started the engine.
32 -- OFF THE RECORD
THE STATION:
‘How many more times do you want me to spell it out for you?’ Donohue was
becoming increasingly frustrated by the barrage of questions fired at him from
Williams who was pacing the room arrogantly, his eyes darted between the floor and
Donohue.
The interrogation room was filled with relief every time he stopped talking,
giving Donohue time to think of futile answers for himself, not the inspector. He
glanced at his watch for the millionth time.
‘I’ve been here for over an hour, and I’ll keep on telling you the same shit
over and over and it won’t change a damn thing. I’ve heard the same question so
many times now, it might as well be one of my middle fucking names.’
He lit a Marlboro and blew a long plume of smoke towards Davis, who sat at
the opposite side of the table. The DS momentarily closed his eyes and coughed; the
sound made Williams stop dead in his tracks. His eyes burned into Donohue’s for a
long time, trying to outdo his gaze – Donohue didn’t flinch. Williams turned to Davis
(knowing that any back-up from him would be a miracle) before he continued with
the same question.
‘Where is she Donohue, where’s the body?’ Donohue glanced at the table top;
his face broke into a grin.
Williams took off his jacket and threw it into the corner of the room; when it
hit the floor, the sound of breaking plastic caused concern in the detective’s eyes.
‘I hope that was your mobile,’ Donohue said loudly and cockily. He was still
grinning as he stared at Williams, taking in his attire; he almost laughed at the
pathetic state of the overweight, sweating detective. The damp patches under his arms
widened his grin.
‘You don’t look too good to me Harry, I’d sit down if I was you before you
fall down with a bloody heart attack.’ Donohue burst out laughing after his own
comments, which only frustrated and angered Williams even more.
‘Listen to me Donohue you fucking wanker, your slut girlfriend’s gone
walkabout and ended up at the bottom of a cliff for all I know and I fucking hope
that’s all it is, but…’
Donohue sprang to his feet.
‘Just you watch your fucking mouth Williams.’

‘Or what, you ginger haired arsehole?’ Their eyes met and Williams tried
unsuccessfully to outstare him again. He turned away even more frustrated. Donohue
slumped back into his chair, and his grin turned into a scowl. He turned to Davis, who
gazed downwards sheepishly.
‘Hey Davis, guess what, that fat cunt mate of yours is about to fall into a
coffin head first.’
Williams leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.
‘Shut it Donohue you stupid bastard…okay, okay…I know you don’t want to
be here and neither do I, but this is my fucking job man…what else do you want me
to do? Every time there’s bloody mayhem lately your bastard name always crops up.’
‘Aren’t I the popular one this month?’.
‘Personally Donohue, I couldn’t give a fuck where she is, as long as
she’s alive…not because I have a soft spot for her or anything, but it means a lot less
fucking paperwork.’ Williams leaned against the wall and put his inhaler between his
lips. Davis decided to speak.
‘Listen M…Mr Donohue, is there any way that you can verify your
whereabouts on…on the night in question?’
Donohue grinned again as he looked directly into his eyes.
‘I was probably scoffing a pizza at the time and no, there weren’t any witnesses
because…well I tend to sleep by myself lately if you know what I mean.’
Davis continued.
‘What we’re trying to establish here Mr…Donohue…is the fact that…’
Donohue jumped to his feet again. He laughed humourlessly.
‘You know what really pisses me off more than any of this bullshit? The fact
that Cath, the woman I’m accused of murdering buried her two sons a few days ago,
and not one of you lot have so much as lifted a finger to find the murdering bastards
who did it and guess why? Because you already know, but you’re either too
frightened or too fucking stupid to do anything about it.’
Williams began to shout, but became breathless. He pulled out his inhaler
while Davis spoke nervously again.
‘Mr Donohue, there’s also your brother to consider and…and the friends he’s
hiding and…’
Williams headed towards the door.
‘What my stupid waste of space colleague is trying to say is that this city is
full of crime at the moment Donohue. Your psycho brother and his scumbag mates
have been our priority up until now, and something like this comes along only to add
to the mountains of fucking paperwork we already have.’
‘Priority…what about Cath’s two kids?’ Donohue shouted.
Williams abruptly left the room, slamming the door behind him. Donohue fell
back into his seat and turned to Davis.
‘What the fuck are you working here for man? Even an unborn baby could tell
you don’t belong here.’ He lit another cigarette.
‘Well Mr Donohue…I’m not really at liberty to say, I mean…’
‘Bloody hell, stop calling me Mr Donohue. Do you have any idea how fucking
annoying it is?’ Donohue left his seat and paced in anticipation. He knew Williams
had left the room for a good reason.
The door burst open, Williams held a clear plastic bag in front of him before
he moved forward and slammed the door behind him. He emptied the contents of the
bag onto the table. There was a handbag, black shoe, passport, and driving license as
well as various items such as lipstick, cigarettes and four condoms.
‘Well, Donohue, is it her stuff then?’
He looked into William’s eyes inquisitively before he slowly focused on the
items in front of him. He picked up Cath’s passport.
‘It’s obvious they’re her things. This is her passport so why the hell are you
asking me? I’ll tell you this much…you know as well as I do that if I’m not being
charged with anything, you have to get permission from the Superintendent to keep
me here any longer.’
‘The thing is, he’s not here so you’re going to play by my rules, I’m in charge
of this case so I’ll do things my way.’
The door burst open again, and a constable beckoned Williams. The detective
left the room hurriedly.
When he returned twenty-minutes later, his smug expression was difficult to
hide. Donohue got to his feet as Williams approached him, he spat the next words into
his face.
‘Well Donohue…a body has been found, and we think it’s the victim; Cath
Elliott’s Mother is at the scene identifying the corpse with great difficulty since half
her head is missing and her face is caved in, so sit your arse back down. I tell you
what son, you’ll go down if you have anything to do with this…her Mother is due
back here for questioning.’
‘I’ve got fuck all to do with…any of this shite, and neither has her Mum,’
Donohue’s voice was shaky. He was glad that he wasn’t sent to view her remains, he
would’ve refused anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, Williams left the room yet again. He was back in ten-
minutes.
‘What the hell’s going on Williams, is it Cath’s body or what?’ Donohue
asked nervously.
‘It’s her alright, she’s been positively identified by the Mother,’ the DI
growled. Donohue stroked his goatee for a moment.
‘I thought you said her face is caved in so how’s she been identified?’
‘Her mother recognised her clothes, items of jewellery…use your head
Donohue, it’s obvious it’s her, unless she has a doppelganger.’
After another hour of questioning, Donohue got up to leave.
‘I’ll tell you one last time Williams, I haven’t seen her since the funeral, now
I’m going to walk out that door, and understand this like it would save your life…I
hate violence, but if you try and stop me, I’ll hit you in the mouth so hard, you’ll be
shitting teeth for the next fucking fortnight.’
Williams pulled out his inhaler again, toying with it between his fingers as
though contemplating using it. He spoke slowly and quietly.
‘I wish you would. I really wish you would because then I would have your
arse on a fucking plate, and I’ll have a witness.’ He nodded towards Davis, who
nervously fumbled with his hands in front of him.
Once he was back on the street, he leaned against the building and tried to
light another cigarette, but eventually gave up because the cold wind prevented each
feeble attempt.
He glanced up at the sky, expecting snow at any moment. Sometimes he
wished it would snow to disguise the cruel city and shroud his feelings of pain, guilt
and anger. There was another feeling too, one which he couldn’t quite put his finger
on; it was a feeling that filled him with warmth. Every time Dawn Howarth entered
his mind it was the same.
Davis interrupted his thoughts when he put a hand on his shoulder, prompting
him to turn round abruptly.
‘What the hell do you want?’ He asked the detective, who held up his hands
and stood back.
‘Calm down Mr…I mean…Tommy. Look, for what it’s worth (and this is off
the record), I don’t think that miserable fat bastard knows the difference between his
arse and a hole in the wall.’ Donohue grinned at the unexpected comment.
‘Well I’ll ask you again Davis, what the hell are you here for? I mean what
possessed you to transfer from Durham to this shithole?’ Davis looked shocked.
‘How did you know about that?’
‘I know a hell of a lot of things about you pigs,’ he snapped back. Davis rolled
his eyes and shook his head.
‘I’m just trying to make a living you know…like you and like everybody else.
It’s a shit job but mugs like me end up choosing it for a bloody career for unknown
reasons. Yes it pays well but I’m pulled from pillar to post for…sometimes seventy
hours a week, and I’d be lying if I said I got any sort of job satisfaction whatsoever
from it.’
‘You still haven’t answered my question, why did you transfer to this force?
They’re all bent up here man. Police corruption stretches throughout the whole of
your department and not just because of Hackett; he’s not as tough as everybody
makes out you know, but he’s dangerous because he knows exactly what strings to
pull, and he’s got plenty to choose from. I’ve learned a few important lessons in my
life, and the most important one is: never trust a copper…especially any from this
department.’
‘If you must know Mr…Tommy, I recently went through a pretty messy
divorce and a custody case, which I won. I was offered a promotion and a chance to
move on, so I took it to make a fresh start, and I’ll tell you what, the bastards were
just as crooked where I came from. It doesn’t matter where you go, there’ll always be
some arsehole breathing hot air down your neck whatever the weather.’
Donohue tried to light his cigarette again but gave up.
‘So where the hell is that mad bastard, Johnson?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, but he was a bitter man with serious problems when I last saw
him. all I can gather from his mysterious disappearance is that since he endured the
drive-by on his house he may have completely lost it’
‘Drive-by on his house…what do you mean?’
Davis stared at the floor for a moment.
‘He was suspended for putting a suspect in hospital...your Brother’s girlfriend.
Not long after that, a few of Hackett’s men paid him a visit with a machine gun…just
like what happened at your place.’
‘So even you know Hackett was behind it?’
‘To be quite honest, I just don’t know what to know or think anymore, but
lately the one name that keeps cropping up is…Hackett. I’ve just about had it with
this so-called damn career that’s for bloody sure.’
Donohue turned away speechless.
‘Just remember Tommy, that was all off the record, and another thing…watch
your back.’
‘I think you’d better watch your back too, seeing as you’re starting to find out
the truth,’ Donohue replied over his shoulder as he briskly walked away. He knew one
thing for sure, he certainly wouldn’t be invited to Cath’s funeral.
33 -- A SPOT OF BOTHER
It had taken him over an hour to reach Green View nursing home, his mother’s
residence for the last four years. He hadn’t paid her a visit in a month and the last time
he did see her, she barely knew where she was. The Alzheimer’s had taken hold at
quite an early age.
He knew he was too late for his visit, but the middle-aged nurse took pity on
him and believed his sob story. She promptly led him to his mother’s room and
paused outside the door.
‘Don’t expect too much Mr Donohue, it may take her some time to
recognise you.’
‘What do you mean recognise me? I’ve been her son for thirty-nine years.’
‘You and I know that Tom, but Mary…Miss Donohue may not remember all
the facts. Just try to be a bit patient with her.’ She knocked and entered the room.
‘Good afternoon, Mary, how are you today? It’s a beautiful day isn’t it?’ The
nurse said in a false cheery voice.
‘Beautiful day, it’s bloody January,’ Donohue mocked under his breath as he
edged slowly into the room. The nurse began to plump up the pillows behind Mary
Donohue, who was sat up in her bed staring at, rather than actually watching the
programme on the TV.
‘Look who’s come to see you Mary, it’s Tommy, your son,’ the nurse said
gently. His Mother turned her head slowly towards him with a look of confusion on
her face. He moved forward.
‘Err…thanks Miss…I think I can manage from here…and thanks again,’ he
winked.
‘Okay Tommy, if you need anything, I’m just down the hall,’ she smiled
politely and left the room. Donohue sat on the edge of the bed.
‘Hello Mum,’ he said nervously. She looked even more confused and he
couldn’t believe how much she seemed to have aged since the last time he saw her.
She was sixty-seven but she looked older. She looked so frail and vulnerable and her
once vibrant, blue eyes were now so vacant as she turned back to the TV, ignoring his
presence. He also turned to the TV, and it took him a while to realise that it was an
episode of Airline – a repeat.
Her hair was now almost completely white since his last visit.
‘How are you, mum? I must say, you’re looking well,’ he lied. He took one of
her gnarled arthritic hands in his, she didn’t flinch.
‘Mum, I’m in a spot of bother…and I…I don’t know where else to go, who
else I can talk to. Do you remember when I was…a boy and you used to always tell
me off for not coming to you and telling you when I had a problem?’
He patiently waited for a response, but he knew the wait would be long so he
glanced around the room, taking in the surroundings and thought it looked slightly
different from a month ago. He briefly wondered if it had been decorated since his last
visit. It was a bright and cheerful room; the walls were painted in yellow and orange
pastels. He frowned as he noticed a vase of flowers on the chest of drawers. They
were obviously plastic, he thought as they certainly couldn’t have been picked from
the grounds at this time of year.
He turned back to his Mother when he felt a tight grip on his hand. She was
looking at him now, although she hadn’t turned her head. Her voice sounded
feeble and sorrowful.
‘Who are you? I don’t have any s…sons, I…I’m far too young. What did you
say your name was?’
He leaned closer.
‘It’s me Tommy, your eldest son…remember?’
‘Eldest s…son…I don’t have any…’ she looked away bewildered.
‘You have a younger son called Bryan. Look, mum…there’s a lot of bad stuff
that’s happened over the last few weeks and…’ He paused and glanced downwards
for a moment before he continued.
‘Cath’s two sons, Danny and Peter are…dead.’ He glanced downwards again,
covering his face with his free hand. This can’t be happening, he thought with dread.
‘Danny and Peter…they’re my g…grandchildren aren’t they?’
He looked up and noticed her expression had changed – she was smiling.
‘No Mum, me and Cath weren’t married, but we were thinking about it, do
you remember? You said she was a good woman and that she’s the best thing that’s
ever happened to me. They were nearly your step-grandchildren…’

‘Why didn’t you marry her then y…young man? Who are you anyway?’
‘Well she’s…dead too, and I don’t know what to do about it.’
‘Who’s we? You’re not making much sense son, I don’t have any…children,
I’m still a virgin…how can I…’ she glanced at the TV screen, looking even more
dumbfounded, while Donohue grew ever more frustrated. She spoke again.
‘Who was that woman in here before, was she y…your Aunty?’
‘No, mum, that was a nurse and she’s looking after you. I’m your son Thomas
Patrick Shamus Donohue, who was born on April the thirteenth nineteen-sixty-six.’
He was sure he saw a flicker of recognition.
She suddenly leant forward to hug him surprisingly tightly despite her ailing
condition.
‘Hello son, how are you? How long have you been here?’ She glanced over
his shoulder.
‘Where’s your wife…you know…the blonde girl you married?’ She resumed
her position on the bed. He sighed and gripped her hand tighter, his voice was gentle.
‘Cath has gone Mum, and so have her two sons…’
‘Gone…gone where?’ He couldn’t believe how increasingly difficult this was
becoming. He was about to speak again when she beat him to it, nodding towards the
TV.
‘This is one of my favourite films you know, I must have seen it five times.’
He also glanced towards the TV and noticed that the same reality programme was still
showing.
He squeezed her hand again, trying to think of another piece of the past with
which to jog her memory. He almost mentioned the incident on the plane all those
years ago but thought better of it.

Most of his childhood memories seemed to be laden with doom and disaster
anyway, and he had hardly ever left Tyneside with his mother so he struggled to find
another time in years gone by when they did actually go on a trip together – and their
trips always did end up disastrous. He wondered if she remembered Cyril.
‘Do you remember the time when we went to Blackpool for the weekend,
mum? Me, you and Cyril booked into that awful flea-ridden bed and breakfast on the
sea front. The next day, we went to the top of the tower and he tried to throw me over
the railing and he meant it. I was virtually dangling over the edge, can you
remember?’ She turned to him and he knew something had registered by the way she
gripped his hand.
‘Do you mean Cyril…Archer?’ She croaked.
‘Yes that was his name…he owned a load of shops and left us some money so
we went to Portugal…remember?.’
Extraordinarily, this time when his Mother spoke, she sounded as though
she’d recovered her faculties.
‘I do remember that day. It was very warm and sunny but quite windy up the
tower; it was swaying from side-to-side…’ she looked away as he interrupted.
‘It was a scorching day in July 1974, and the reason I know it was 1974 is
because you used to love that song The six teens by Sweet. It was in the charts at the
time. Mind you, I don’t know how you lasted so long with him.’
He felt guilty even though he knew bad memories were the best defence
against her illness. She spoke again.
‘Ahh, The six teens…I used to love the singer…h…him with the blonde
hair…’
‘Brian Connolly,’ Donohue added. He couldn’t believe how much she’d
changed in a matter of seconds, although he thought it paradoxical that she should
remember such a catalytic weekend summer break – over thirty-one-years ago.
To his surprise, His Mother began to sing the chorus to The six teens. He
joined in. After a while, she abruptly stopped singing and turned back to the TV.
‘Why did he…want to throw you from the top of the tower, son?’
‘All because I was terrified of heights and I was crying my eyes out…I didn’t
even want to go up the tower in the first place, and neither did you. But that’s what he
was like, it was a sort of punishment because I had a phobia, and he punished you
because you were on my side.’ Donohue also remembered the booze-fuelled physical
fight they had that night, but he thought better than to mention it.
His mother turned back to him looking more confused than ever.
‘What did you say your name was again, son?’ Here we go again, he thought
despairingly.
‘Mum…it’s me Tommy, your son…’ he turned away, staring into space with
tears in his eyes. He could hardly believe this shadow of a person used to be his
mother.
‘What’s wrong? Why are you crying?’
‘Oh it’s nothing, it’s just that…’ he got to his feet and walked to the large
window; he looked out over the grounds below through tear-filled eyes. In the
distance he could just make out the seven bridges over the Tyne, and the structure of
the recently erected Arts centre but he didn’t think it was a spectacular view like the
patriotic arseholes on the regional news – it filled him with foreboding.
He wasn’t proud of his birth place like so many foolish old-timers and often
wondered what Drogheda was like. It was a town approximately twenty-two miles
north of Dublin – his Mother’s birthplace; surely it had to be better than this…
anywhere had to be better than this.
‘What was it like in Ireland? You never really talked about it much when me
and Bryan were growing up.’ She merely stared at him blankly before she gave the
wrong answer as he’d expected.
‘Ireland…where’s that son?’ He turned to meet her confused gaze; his worried
expression turned into a sympathetic smile.
‘It’s just a little country over in that direction,’ he said pointing westwards.
She turned to look at the wall where he signified.
‘I can’t say that I…I’ve heard of it before son. Anyway, I’m quite tired now so
I think I’ll have a little nap if you don’t mind…what did you say your name
was?’
He sat on the bed and watched as his Mother slept peacefully. He waited
another fifteen-minutes before he gently kissed her forehead and left the room.
34 -- NAMES AND ADDRESSES
Skinner had had just about as much as he could take for one afternoon. The
humiliation was so much at one point, that he tried to upturn the pool table in
frustration, but his thin weak arms couldn’t even move it a millimetre – more
humiliation.
Ever since Hackett had left for Las Vegas, his triplet brothers were on the
scene throwing their weight around like they owned everything. Skinner knew they
were supposed to be looking after things, but they were taking over. Now he was
being bullied by three Hacketts instead of just one.
He laughed inwardly and humourlessly at the ridiculous trio, how comical
they were, always together as though they were handcuffed – it even took all three of
them to accompany him to shoot Cath’s two kids. Their stupid matching names
Darren, Donald and Derek, made him snigger to himself.
‘Fucking arseholes, they’ll get theirs one day the lot of them. Darren’s in
charge is he? I’ll show the bastard,’ he seethed under his breath.
Darkness had fallen hours ago, and so had the temperature. The wind cut into
his face mercilessly, making him curse the elements as they whistled tunelessly
through railings and fences alike.
The black Fiat Punto cruised slowly behind him, undetected by the screaming
winter. Wide eyes with a powerful intent gazed through the windscreen, hardly
straying from the agitated Skinner a few feet ahead. The driver glanced in the rear-
view mirror checking for other traffic or pedestrians. Satisfied with the deserted street,
the car sped forward, mounted the pavement and missed Skinner by inches before
screeching to a halt ten-feet in front of him.
‘You fucking idiot, what the fuck do you think you’re playing at?’ Skinner
screamed at the vehicle. He stood staring ahead, squinting into the cold darkness as
the Punto slowly reversed. His eyes widened in terror when he realised the intention
of the driver. The car surged onwards again, this time hitting its target. Skinner’s
attempt to dive free was too slow, and his legs caught most of the impact. He rolled
over countless times when he hit the ground.
It took him a while to come to his senses, and when he did, the disorientation
was immediately overshadowed by the extreme pain in his broken legs. He lay on his
back in agony while the car reversed once more. He tried to crawl away from the next
onslaught, but he was too late. The wheels ran over his legs. He screamed in agony as
his right femur splintered and ripped through his flesh to protrude from his jeans
above the knee. He whimpered helplessly as the driver stepped from the car and
walked slowly towards him. It was a tall figure with no defining features because it
donned baggy dark blue overalls and the face was hidden behind a ski mask.
‘P…please don’t hurt me any…anymore, please. Who…who are you? What
d…do you want?’ The driver glanced down at his smashed legs with delight, and
noticed the dark stain in his crotch region – he’d urinated in his pants. The blood still
pumped from the gaping gash in his thigh, spilling onto the pavement in torrents.
‘Please Mister, what d…do you want?’ Skinner asked again through tears of
pain and fear.
‘I want some information you little fucking bastard,’ came the muffled reply
before the driver kicked him hard in the side of the head to silence him. The steel toe-
capped boot caught his jaw, knocking him out cold.
The journey to the desired destination had only taken thirty-minutes but
Skinner was already beginning to come round in the plastic-covered back seat.
‘Mum, please f…f…find me…I’m being kidnapped. My legs are so sore and
only…only…’
‘Shut it you pathetic little shit, or I’ll give you something real to cry about,’
the gruff voice shouted to the back of the car, not angrily, but in a matter-of-fact
manner, which made Skinner even more frightened for his life. He tried to sit up but
the movement racked his whole body with pain causing him to scream out loudly. He
glanced down at his mangled legs and a gush of vomit erupted from his stomach to
splash onto the floor of the car.
‘It’s a good job there’s a covering down there, otherwise I would’ve made you
lick every last bit of it up, you miserable little cunt,’ the driver rasped. The words
barely registered in Skinner’s mind; his head fell onto the seat as he slipped into
unconsciousness again.
The car eventually pulled into an industrial estate. It was quiet, dark and
desolate – the perfect place.
The driver’s door slammed, jolting Skinner to his senses; he tried to turn his
head to see the whereabouts of the driver, but the sudden change of position caused an
unbelievable wave of pain to shoot through his whole being like a thunderbolt. He
screamed as he remembered how badly his legs were damaged. He was vaguely aware
of being dragged roughly from the back of the car and dropped heavily onto the floor.
His screams were abruptly cut short as the heavy steering lock smashed onto the back
of his head, knocking him unconscious again.
He couldn’t move; when he tried, waves of agony swept over him. He was
lying on his back and it took him a while to realise that he was tied to some sort of
bench. He couldn’t even scream because his mouth was taped shut.
The sudden voice to his left startled him and he thought he recognised it, but
his mind couldn’t function properly. He tried to turn his head to face his assailant but
the movement proved too difficult. The bright light from the torch was blinding when
it shone directly in his face. The tape was ripped from his mouth causing him to
cough and splutter.
‘Now then, you snivelling little shit, you tell me what I want to know and I’ll
call an ambulance, otherwise the only way you’ll leave this warehouse is in a fucking
body bag,’ the voice said quietly but it had a sinister tone to it.
‘Okay, I…I’ll do anything…please don’t hurt me anymore…please. I’ll tell
you everything you want to know,’ Skinner replied shakily.
‘I want to know everything about Frank Hackett. Where his house is, names
and addresses of his family and friends, where all his pubs and clubs are, what they’re
called. Most importantly, where the bastard is now. Don’t you dare mention Frank’s
Palace because I’ve been following you most of the day and then I spent over two
hours watching that shithole waiting for you to emerge, so don’t piss me off.’
Skinner still couldn’t quite place the voice.
‘Who…who are you?’ He asked. The tall figure rummaged in a hold-all before
rushing forward and bringing the 12 Gauge Bignotti sawn-off shotgun down hard on
Skinner’s destroyed legs. He let out a piercing scream, which reverberated around the
dark and deserted building. When his agony had subsided, he began to sob.
‘If you ever ask me that again I’ll cut your fucking balls off and stuff them
down your throat…do you understand?’
‘Yes I…I…I understand, please I won’t…’ Skinner whimpered, glancing up at
the strange character through tear-stained eyes, who now had a notepad and pen at
the ready.
‘Right, start talking, and I want details, not a load of shit. If you start to bore
me or if I think you’re lying, I’ll smash your legs again. Personally I don’t think
you’ll ever walk properly again anyway so let’s not make this any worse.
After almost ninety-minutes, Skinner had blurted out all the relevant
information.
‘Well you’ve been very helpful but now it’s time for you to die you little shit,’
The shotgun was levelled at Skinner’s crotch.
‘Please d...don’t kill me, you…you promised you would call me an
ambulance…’
There was a deafening boom as both triggers were pulled simultaneously,
obliterating his genitals. At such point blank range, the shotgun blast tore through
flesh and bone destroying his pelvis and his lower abdomen. Blood splashed in all
directions and Skinner’s agonising screams roared around the empty warehouse. They
were abruptly halted when a bullet from the Glock 17 hit him in the forehead to
silence him forever.
35 -- IT COULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED TO A
MORE SENSITIVE PILLAR OF THE
COMMUNITY
‘I must say there’s not much left of the poor bastard.’ Davis said as he buried
his face in his handkerchief. He abruptly turned away and headed towards the
warehouse door. Williams merely shook his head and stared at the corpse, from which
a putrid stench emanated.
The gaping wound between Skinner’s legs was a gruesome sight. The pints of
blood, which had spilled from the body, had now congealed into a sticky brown pool,
which covered every inch of the floor surrounding the bench.

Not a great deal of blood had escaped from the large hole in his forehead
because of the position he was lying in, and there was no exit wound as the bullet had
lodged in his brain.
Williams wasn’t fazed by this at all.
‘Well I must admit, it couldn’t have happened to a more sensitive pillar of the
community,’ he remarked sarcastically before he took out his inhaler. After a couple
of short bursts, he turned to Sam Grice.
‘Well, Sam, what happened here?’
The pathologist faced Williams irritably.
‘I’m not a wizard Harry, I’ve only been here for a few minutes man.’
Williams scowled.
‘Okay, I’ll rephrase the question. What do you think happened here then?’
The pathologist leaned closer to the grim scene.
‘Well by the look of this injury…’ he straightened up and scratched his head,
nodding towards the corpse.
‘Well go on then man,’ William’s persisted.
‘It looks like he was shot between the legs at extremely close range with a
shotgun considering the cauterisation around his jeans, and the obvious pellet marks I
can see. Christ he must’ve been in complete agony before he died, but I don’t think
his suffering lasted very long.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Williams asked impatiently as he moved
forward, beckoned by the pathologist.
‘I think he was shot in the head soon afterwards to silence him, because even
though the killer wanted his victim to suffer badly (and I think that was the overall
intention), the screams were too obtrusive for him to risk his revengeful ends to the
full,’ Grice turned to the DI.
‘Is that good enough for you?’
‘Sam, the place is deserted, there isn’t a soul for miles around…what do you
mean the screams were too loud and obtrusive?’
The pathologist became annoyed.
‘Look…as I told you before, I’ve only been here a few bloody minutes, so
obviously a little guess work is necessary at this stage.’
‘What about time of death?’ a uniformed officer asked.
‘Some time last night around about…seven or eight,’ Grice replied.
‘All right all right, I get the picture and I’m getting bloody bored with this
already,’ Williams retorted.
‘How come you’re on another murder inquiry anyway, don’t you have enough
to be getting on with already?’ Grice inquired.
‘Well you know what Carlton’s like…he’ll have me picking up litter from the
streets with my teeth just to keep me busy. Anyway, he’s put some other arseholes in
charge of the other murders and sent me over here, but I’m not bothered. It beats
skulking around the poxy incident room for hours on end, and lately I’ve got more
paperwork to sift through than you’ve had bodies to examine.’ He took
out his inhaler again.
‘Who found the body?’ Grice asked eventually.
‘That’s just the thing, a mystery voice rang the station about two hours ago,
and told us the location of the deceased,’ another uniformed officer said.
As soon as Williams rushed outside, the dull wintry weather was upon him;
he cursed himself for not wearing his overcoat. He shoved his hands into the pockets
of his ill-fitting grey blazer and shifted his heavy bulk towards his colleague.
‘You know, Col, I can’t put my finger on any of this shit, none of it seems
real,’ he said, glancing around at the empty surrounding factories and warehouses.
‘What do you mean exactly?’ Davis asked as Williams looked on thoughtfully.
‘Well for a start, some fucking weirdo who barely sounds human rings the
station and tells us about a murder and where the body is…if it was gang related,
nobody would ring us anonymously and leave a corpse for all and sundry to find, least
of all tell us the exact whereabouts. Something’s going on here Davis, I can feel it.
This isn’t the beginning of a drug war, this is definitely something else.’
‘You know, Harry, from what I heard earlier, that poor bastard in there had a
lot of enemies.’
‘Use your fucking head Col man…why would the killer call the station? If it
was a gang war or something, poor old Skinner the punch bag wimp wouldn’t be
lying blown nearly in half a few feet away would he? It would’ve been a clean and
incognito job, not a publicity farce like this…and the press will turn up eventually,
even though we’ve tried to keep it away from the greedy bastards for as long as we
can. Carlton’s right about one thing though…there’s a copper-hating mob out there
baying for our blood, and shit like this won’t fucking help.’
‘What do we do now?’ Davis asked anxiously as his superior pulled out his
inhaler.
‘Well I don’t know about you Col, but I think some questioning is in order
don’t you?’
‘Who are we supposed to question when we don’t even know who the voice
belongs to?’ They were suddenly distracted by loud conversations coming from a
group of uniformed officers who were emerging from the warehouse. They were
laughing and joking about overtime much to the annoyance of Williams. He rushed
towards them angrily, his harsh voice come out in loud gasps and he quickly used his
inhaler before he continued.
‘Listen to me you arseholes, stop acting like amateurs and start acting like
interested coppers, otherwise I’ll suspend the lot of you. I’m in charge of this case,
and if I so much as hear a snigger from any one of you lot again, I’ll be down on you
like thirty-tons of horse shite…now get on with your jobs,’ he turned back to Davis.
‘I think our first stop will be Donohue…’
‘Oh come on, don’t you think the bloke has been through enough over the last
few weeks? You can’t honestly tell me this is his style…killing a nobody like
Skinner.’
Williams already knew that Skinner was the trigger responsible for the Elliot
killings, but he couldn’t divulge the information to his partner – Davis was too honest
for his own good. The call to the station earlier still mystified him, for the voice was
totally unrecognisable.
‘Look, let’s just get out there and question as many people as we can, starting
with Donohue. You know what Carlton’s like when the Super’s on holiday, he takes
the fucking piss…’
‘What about Johnson? He hated the bastard as much as anybody, but he was a
lonely and desperate man, and I’m not ashamed to admit that I feel sorry for him.’
‘Nobody knows where the prick is do they, so how the fuck are we supposed
to find the elusive bastard? I wouldn’t be feeling sorry for the sad twat if I was you
Col, it could land you in hot water. Donohue is our first suspect so let’s just find the
arsehole to eliminate him from our enquiries if we can…at least it looks like we’re
being busy and following up leads and shit.’
‘But what about the other murders, the two constables, the Elliot kids…?’
‘This is our new case. The other killings don’t concern us anymore so the
bastard Carlton has kindly informed me a thousand times in the last two hours. We
already know who’s responsible for the death of the two coppers, it’s just finding the
bastards, that’s the problem.’
Davis was shocked.
‘I like the way he notified me about it. When did he tell you about it?’
‘It doesn’t fucking matter, I think this might turn out more interesting than the
other cut-and-dried murders,’ the DI snapped back.
They headed towards William’s black VW Passat. He paused when he pulled
the door open and quickly took out his inhaler.
‘When we find Donohue, let me do the talking.’
Davis shook his head in disbelief.
‘We can’t just leave the scene man; we’re supposed to be investigating…’
‘I can do whatever the hell I like…I’m in charge of this case,’ Williams
replied victoriously. He slammed his foot down.

36 -- A SMALL FISH IN A BIG OCEAN
GATESHEAD, TYNE & WEAR:
Donohue had decided to take up residence in The Lion’s Den indefinitely for the time
being; he didn’t feel safe in his house anymore, despite the metal sheeting which
covered the windows. If the bullets were as lethal as the last time, they would easily
penetrate it anyway.
Mason had insisted that he stay at his place but no matter how hard he tried, he
couldn’t persuade his stubborn friend. Donohue was already driving around in his car,
he didn’t want to live with him too.
Who the hell burgled the house and took his Bignotti and the Glock? he
wondered worriedly. The culprit obviously knew where he lived and that he might
have guns. The image of Inspector Tony Johnson kept springing to mind.
‘Are you going to take your shot or what?’ Nick Henshall said loudly above
the jukebox, which was aptly playing Tommy gun by The Clash.
Donohue had been beating everybody who challenged him at pool for the last
few hours, and now it was Henshall’s turn to lose money. The cue ball completely
missed the black when a familiar wheezing voice from behind distracted him.
‘A few questions if you don’t mind Donohue.’ He tossed his cue onto the table
and turned to face DI Williams and DS Davis. The DI looked as though he’d just ran a
marathon; sweat streamed down his face in rivers and he looked even more
dishevelled than the last time he’d seen him.
‘Okay, Williams, what’s my brother done now, robbed a bank or raped a nun
or something?’
‘For your information, I’m not even on that case anymore. I’m here about a
completely different murder.’
‘Another murder,’ Mason said shaking his head.
‘Who is it this time?’ Donohue asked, lighting a Marlboro and rolling his eyes;
he grinned, which angered the detective.
‘I wouldn’t be too bloody cocky if I were you son, because I can quite easily
drag you in for questioning right now. You had the perfect motive so you’d better
have an alibi to match, otherwise your arse is coming with me.’
Mason and Henshall moved slowly and menacingly, to either side of their
friend.
The jukebox was now silent and the rough-looking regulars also began to
move forward. Donohue folded his arms; his grin widened.
‘You and exactly whose army?’
‘All right, Donohue, just tell me where you were last night between seven and
eight. You’ll need it verified later.’
‘I don’t need to verify anything since I don’t have any witnesses to my boring
events last night. And anyway, you haven’t even told me who’s been killed or if
there’s been any progress about Danny and Peter’s killings. Jesus Christ, you’re
taking the fucking piss aren’t you Williams. Last night I was upstairs in the office
watching a film on telly, and no, nobody saw me…now who the fuck’s been killed?’
The DI pulled out a note book and pen from his inside pocket, and sighed loudly.
‘Okay, what film were you watching and what channel was it on?’
‘Christ, you never give up do you. Okay, it was The Outlaw Josie Wales,
and it started at seven-fifteen…it finished at nine-fifty because of the adverts, and if
you can be bothered, you can find out what channel it was on yourself, because I can’t
remember.’
‘Come of it, Donohue, even you’re not stupid enough to forget what station
you were watching last night.’
‘And you’re not stupid enough not to find out.’
Williams put his pen to paper, but the ballpoint hovered above the blank page.
‘What was the film about then?’
Donohue laughed loudly.
‘Come on, I’ve lost count of the times I’ve seen it. I can tell you the script
backwards if you like. I’ve even read the book, Gone to Texas by Forrest Carter,
satisfied.’
The detective’s next words wiped the smirk from Donohue’s face.
‘Johnny Skinner was shot to smithereens last night, and he’s not a pretty
sight…’
‘The bastard never was a pretty sight,’ Henshall mused under his breath.
Donohue pushed his thick hair from his face and stared into space thoughtfully
for a moment before he spoke; when he did, nervousness had crept into his voice.
‘Do you honestly think I’d waste my time shooting a piece of shit like that? I
mean…come on, he was just a small fish in a big ocean.’
Williams put his note pad and pen away – it was his turn to look smug.
‘Well guess what, there’s something you don’t know about our friend
Skinner.’ He turned and headed for the door. Donohue looked to each of his
companion’s resigned expressions in turn before he followed the DI.
Williams spun round at the exit; he hissed his next words at Donohue.
‘Funny enough I’ve seen The Outlaw Josie Wales more times than I’ve been
to the bog in my lifetime, and I know the plot as if I’d wrote the bastard thing
myself…a farmer’s wife and kids are killed so he seeks retribution, and he also has a
price on his head…think about it Donohue.’ He used his inhaler; then he was gone,
leaving Donohue to stare after him baffled. He shook his head and returned to the
pool table.
‘What the fuck was all that crap about? Skinner’s been killed at last and we’re
supposed to feel sorry for him,’ Mason said bewildered as he picked up his drink.
‘I’m more bothered by what the fat bastard meant on the way out,’ Donohue
replied thoughtfully.
‘You didn’t have to carry on like that Harry…you almost implied Skinner had
killed his girlfriend’s two kids…’ Davis abruptly faced his superior and his eyes
widened with realisation.
‘Bloody hell, Skinner was responsible for the shootings wasn’t he?’
Williams never took his eyes from the road when he replied.
‘You’re just stabbing in the dark now Davis, and if I was you, I wouldn’t
form any far-fetched ideas in your head because it won’t do anybody any good
whatsoever.’
Davis leaned closer to the DI in order to view the speedometer, and
noticed that he was bordering on 95mph in a 40mph zone.
‘God Almighty Harry, slow down. Are you trying to kill us both?’ The car
suddenly screeched to a halt in a quiet lay-by. Williams turned off the engine and
began to rant.
‘As far as I know, nobody has a fucking clue who killed those bloody kids,
and even if that prick Skinner was involved…well he can’t really tell us about it now
can he? Anyway, we’re not even on that case anymore so I suggest you apply your
stupid theories elsewhere.’
Davis was unperturbed.
‘You know as well as I do that this isn’t right, and it doesn’t matter if
Skinner’s dead or not…can’t you see, it’s the same case…it’s connected.’
‘What do you think I’ve been trying to tell you all day man. We’re looking for
Skinner’s killer though, not the Elliott kids’ killer…use your fucking head man. We
aren’t on that case anymore and quick frankly, I’m fucking glad because I’ve got a
feeling that this one will be easier to solve, seeing as it’s only one murder and not
almost half-a-dozen.’
He took out his inhaler again; he used it before he continued.
‘Listen Col, this could quite easily be an interesting case, let’s just wait and
see. I think we’ll pay Mickey Bennett a visit next because I know for a fact that
Skinner and a few of his low life mates used to collect protection from his patch.’ He
started the car.

‘Me and Johnson got our arses kicked the other week because we paid
Donohue an unofficial visit, so I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Davis said
quietly.
‘Johnson’s a different kettle of fish to me. Nobody on the force gives a shit
about him and the Super would find any excuse to jump on him. Besides, it’s our job
to get out there and question potential suspects…’
William’s voice droned on throughout the short journey to Byker, and Davis
ignored it as best he could, for he had a more sinister thought in his head: Bobby
Smith was probably the most prime suspect in this recent murder.
When they reached Byker, Williams pulled up outside The Blacksmiths Arms.
‘How do you know he’s going to be in there?’ Davis asked.
‘Well this is Saturday in case you haven’t noticed, and if he’s not in there
drinking with his shitbag, lowlife cronies; then I’m fucking anorexic,’ the Inspector
climbed out of the car followed by Davis.
‘Let me do the talking, there’s no room for politeness when your dealing with
scum like this.’ The DI pushed through the doors and headed towards Bennett, who
was sitting in his usual place at the bar talking to a couple of huge, hard looking men.
One of them nodded towards the detectives, prompting him to turn round.
‘Well well, look who’s here, which giant shithouse did you climb out of?’
Bennett’s comment made his two companions snigger. Davis pulled out his ID card.
‘Put it away you idiot,’ Williams snapped under his breath as they drew nearer
to the bar.
‘I know who you are Williams, but what about your lap dog here? I haven’t
seen him around before,’ Bennett mused. Davis began to speak.

‘I am Detective Sergeant…’
‘Where were you between seven and eight last night?’ Williams
asked cockily.
‘Okay then, who’s been killed this time?’ Bennett asked sarcastically causing
the detectives to glance at each other suspiciously.
‘So you do know there’s been a murder then?’ Williams asked, pulling out his
notepad.
‘I didn’t say that, I asked who’s been killed so stop trying to put words in my
mouth. Anyhow, how many murder enquiries are you involved in? You’re too fat too
walk, let alone solve a fucking murder case.’ Bennett and his friends laughed loudly,
angering the DI.
‘Look Bennett, there’s only just over forty available officers working on the
other murders, including this one, and yes we’re badly understaffed and incompetent,
but murder is against the law…it’s illegal…fuck me, you’re such a prick for not even
attempting to grasp that fact sunshine.’
Bennett’s grin turned to a scowl.
‘Tell me why you’re here, or just fuck off out of my sight because I don’t have
time for shite like this…I’m a very busy man.’
‘Very busy…standing around drinking with your psycho friends. I’ll ask you
again Bennett, where were you last night between seven and eight?’
Davis began to speak nervously.
‘Look…Mr Bennett, it’s in all our best interests…if we know…’
‘Shut up,’ Williams grunted.
‘All right then, Williams, you arsehole, last night I was at home watching a
Clint Eastwood film about that time, and yes I have a witness…my daughter
Charlotte, she sat and watched it with me.’
Williams rolled his eyes and sighed.
‘Don’t tell me…you watched The Outlaw Josie Wales.’
Bennett lit a cigarette.
‘Actually it was Escape from Alcatraz, so you’re fucking wrong,’ he snapped
back before he raised his drink to his lips. Davis decided to speak again.
‘Listen Mr Bennett…what we need to establish is…’
‘For fuck’s sake, shut it will you, I’ll ask the questions,’ Williams snarled
before turning back to Bennett.
‘What was the film about then smart arse?’ Bennett spat a mouthful of lager
onto the bar and laughed loudly.
‘You know fatso, you’re really starting to bore me, are you going to tell me
who’s snuffed it or what?’
‘Johnny Skinner was brutally murdered last night in some derelict warehouse,’
the detective retorted.
‘So fucking what,’ came Bennett’s reply.
Davis nervously interrupted again.
‘Mr Bennett…Sir, all we ask is that…you assist us in our…’
‘Look Col, just shut your mouth, I’ll deal with this,’ the DI growled causing
the sergeant to storm out to the car as the small gathering around the bar jeered.
‘Listen, Bennett, I know you and Hackett are arch-enemies, and there’s been
rumblings about a recent altercation.’ Williams waited for a response but Bennett
laughed again.
‘Hackett’s in Las Vegas or haven’t you heard? I’ll tell you something else
Williams, if I want to fight Hackett, then that’s how it’ll be…just me and him. I
wouldn’t waste my time killing a scumbag like Skinner…even Hackett hated him so
much, he’d probably buy me a magnum of fucking champagne if I had killed the ugly
little bastard pervert.’
‘Well somebody killed him.’
‘Well it wasn’t me…I battered the little shit a week ago because he was trying
to sell crack on my patch, and that’s the last time I set eyes on him…now get out of
my pub and start questioning some real suspects because I know fuck all.’ Bennett
turned away from the detective and finished his drink.
‘Just remember son, you’re not in the clear yet and we might need a statement
in the near future, so don’t be thinking of any holidays.’
‘Whatever,’ Bennett replied uncaringly without turning round.
When Williams climbed into the car, he was greeted by a menacing scowl.
Davis had had enough.
‘I don’t know who you think I am, Williams, but in case you didn’t know, I’m
your bloody partner…and I don’t appreciate being treated like a doormat in front of
suspects. It may very well have escaped your attention, but this city is coming apart at
the seams…tensions are running high and something’s going to blow soon if we don’t
stick together and start investigating things properly.’
Williams abruptly turned in his seat to face his colleague with a scowl to
match.
‘I’m in charge of this case because Carlton told me to be, and he doesn’t care
how I conduct this investigation, as long as I get results. Carlton left me in charge and
that’s it, end of story. If you have any better ideas how to go about things; then I’m all
ears.’
Davis thought for a moment as he fumbled with his seat belt. He spoke evenly.
‘You know, there’s two more people who could be prime suspects.’
‘Go on then, Sarge, throw me some of your new-found wisdom…I can do
with a good laugh.’
The DS paused, shaking his head before he continued.
‘What about checking out Ian Elliott, he has connections to the army, and then
there’s Lenny Mason, whose closest friend is Tommy Donohue as far as I’ve found
out.’
‘What do you mean as far as you’ve found out? Look Davis, you don’t know
about Elliott or Mason; that kind of shit is hearsay. Let’s just get back to the station
and get a sandwich, I’m fucking starving.’ Williams pulled out his inhaler; instead of
using it, he tapped it on his knee. I’m in charge of this case, he thought gleefully. His
grin widened, but his stupidly large moustache hid any emotions.
37 -- LIFE IS WORTHLESS AND DEATH IS
WAITING
WALLSEND, TYNE & WEAR:
Davey Dawson was relieved to be in the comfort of his own home again. He’d spent
almost a week in the Freeman hospital, and he hated the place. The meals aren’t even
big enough to feed a cockroach, he thought bitterly when he glanced at himself
in the mirror – he looked as though he’d lost two stone in weight.
His right arm was in a cast, which was due to be taken off in five weeks. He
couldn’t even reach further than his waist to urinate; he hated relying on his left hand
to perform even the most menial tasks. He felt as helpless as a child sometimes. He
couldn’t even sit still for long periods because his crotch itched intensely, caused by
the stitches.
The operation to remove his destroyed left testicle and sew him back up again
had taken a mere forty-five minutes. He was sure they’d rushed it, because he
remembered the conversations between the surgeons when he’d reached the operating
theatre. They talked of getting the job done as quickly as possible because they had to
be somewhere to celebrate somebody’s birthday – a senior member of staff no less.
The anaesthetic didn’t kick in as quickly as it should’ve done, and he swore he
could feel the needle piercing the skin of his scrotum. He turned away from the mirror
and shuddered at the thought.
He’d never suffered from headaches before, but now he harboured a migraine
that surfaced every few hours – and those painful moments seemed to last a lifetime.
He also suffered blackouts from time to time.
He limped back to his armchair, picking up the remote control for the TV en
route and flopped into the chair, flicking through channels, but they meant nothing to
him; all he could think about was vengeance against Donohue for putting him in this
state.
‘The long-haired ginger cunt won’t get away with this…and that’s a promise,’
he shouted as he threw the handset towards the TV. His left hand wasn’t accurate, so
the remote missed and hit the wall behind to split in half and spill batteries and plastic
loudly onto the digital box below.
He decided to connect his PlayStation 2 to the TV, to try and use up some of
his anger and frustration – he wondered how difficult it would be in his disabled
condition.
He pulled some of his games from the shelf beneath the TV and studied each
one in turn, until he found the one he always opted for – Grand Theft Auto 3.
He always loved his driving games as much as his beat-em-up’s, at the
moment though, he wanted to crash into a wall, or another car, or a pedestrian. He
didn’t care as long as it took his mind off the person responsible for his terrible
condition..
He plugged it into the appropriate sockets before he settled down to embark
on ultimate destruction. The theme music began after a few moments, and he was
about to click onto the load section when the doorbell rang.
‘Fuck it, can’t you wait till I’ve started the bastard thing?’ he seethed as he
staggered to his feet. He grabbed his glass of rum and coke, and finished the contents
before slowly opening the living room door and creeping down the stairs.
There was no silhouette at the expensive front door window, nor was there any
indication that somebody had stood beyond it. He crept closer, listening intently for a
while, only hearing the harsh wind outside. He turned slowly, cursing under his breath
and made for the stairs when the doorbell rang again.
‘Fucking hell man, this better be important,’ he muttered in frustration as he
turned and headed for the door again. He unlocked it and wrenched it open without
hesitation.
He squinted into the gloom as the cold wind struck him in the face, but the
doorstep was devoid of any callers. He stood scratching his head before he went back
inside. There was a sudden rushing sound behind him, and he felt a sharp pain
between his shoulder blades as the large kitchen knife pierced his left lung. His
screech came out in a loud wheeze; he fell forward heavily, landing awkwardly on his
knees at the bottom of the stairs. The knife struck again, scything through his left
shoulder grating against bone. Blood erupted from the gaping wound and the pain
shot through his whole arm as the knife was pulled free.
He began to crawl up the stairs, desperately trying to escape the mysterious
attacker, but he was clumsy and hindered by his plastered arm. He was halfway up the
staircase when the knife stabbed again, this time it ruptured his right kidney setting
his lower body on fire with acute pain, but it didn’t stop his instinct for survival.
Despite his agony, Dawson scrambled ever faster up the stairs, but the knife
struck again slicing into his upper thigh and severing his femoral artery. Thick blood
splashed onto the banister rails. He tried to scream in pain and terror but the only
sound that came forth was a gasping sound, followed by a loud gurgling as thick
blood filled his mouth and spilled over his lips onto the stair carpet.
He lay there for a few long seconds until he felt powerful gloved hands grip
his ankles and pull him roughly to the bottom of the stairs. There was a pause before
an even more frenzied attack ensued. The knife cut through flesh, mercilessly
splintering bone and irreparably damaging internal organs. With each thrust of the
blade, the aggressor shouted obscenities:
‘Cunt; Bastard; fucking scum; you spineless fucking prick…’ fountains of
blood sprayed everywhere, until at last, the onslaught ceased.
The deadly intruder stared down at Dawson, gathering momentum before
reaching down to turn the heavy bulk onto his back. His once white t-shirt was now
shredded and completely red with his own blood. Dawson could just make out the
shape in front of him. It donned dark blue baggy overalls and the face was hidden by a
ski mask; it seemed to fade from view and he realised the front door was still open.
The attacker had left.
Dawson knew it wouldn’t take him long to bleed to death, pints of his life
fluid had already flowed profusely from the wound in his thigh. His thoughts were
interrupted by the sound of the front door closing. The assailant was back, carrying
something this time, it was a large hold-all, which dropped to the floor heavily. The
hazy figure bent and pulled out two guns: a 12-gauge Bignotti sawn-off shotgun, and
a Glock 17 handgun. The Glock was placed on the nearby shelf, while the shotgun
was levelled at Dawson’s groin area.
‘Who…who are you, Wh…what do you…you…want?’ he managed to gurgle.
‘Life is worthless and death is waiting,’ were the only words uttered by the
killer before both barrels discharged their deadly pellets into what was left of his
genitals. Dawson didn’t omit a deafening scream like Skinner, but the sheer agony
registered on his face until a bullet from the Glock hit him in the forehead, killing him
outright.
38 -- THIS HAS DONOHUE WRITTEN ALL OVER
IT
‘What do you think?’ Williams asked as Carlton studied the note again, which read:
Another scumbag wiped from the face of the planet, and another job well done don’t
you think you negligent bastards? Yours truly, The Avenging Angel. The note was in
an envelope purposely placed on the shelf in the hall. It had been written in red ink.
‘I think we may have some lunatic on our hands who fancies themselves as a
fucking serial killer,’ Carlton rasped, as a forensic carefully placed the note into an
evidence bag with a pair of tweezers. He cleared his throat before he spoke again.
‘We already know that Skinner was the shooter of the Elliott kids so I don’t
think for a second this could be gang related…’ he glanced again at Dawson’s
mangled corpse, squinting at the flash of a forensic camera before he continued.
‘Davey was a good friend of mine and I want the person or persons
responsible for this caught…fuck me, I wouldn’t care so much, but he owed me a few
hundred quid…I’ll never see my bastard money now.’
‘Do you think we should let Hackett know about this?’ Williams asked.
‘I’ve already rang the triplets, and they can’t seem to reach the bastard. He’s
supposed to be staying at The Caesar’s Palace Hotel, but every time the receptionist
answers, the twat is never there; it’s like he’s vanished from the face of the fucking
earth.’
‘Don’t worry, well catch whoever’s responsible for this,’ the DI said quietly
prompting Carlton to spin round angrily.
‘You couldn’t even catch a fucking cold if you were coming down with one
Williams. Two identical murders in a space of a week, and you and Davis have
come up with absolutely fuck all, and I’m beginning to wonder if I made a mistake
putting you on this case.’
It was Williams’ turn to become annoyed.
‘For a start…Sir, this murder only occurred in the last few hours, so how the
hell am I supposed to find out anything at such short notice? Jesus, I’d have to be Uri
Geller to come up with something that fast.’
‘I put you on this case because I thought I was doing you a favour…I thought
you could do with a rest. I mean look at the state of you man, you look nearly as bad
as that twat Johnson you replaced…you’re out of shape Williams, now shape up or
ship out.’
Williams took out his inhaler and used it before he spoke harshly.
‘You know as well as I do that the Elliott case won’t be properly investigated
and eventually it’ll be swept under the carpet, because we can’t exactly arrest Hackett
can we? The family and friends are going to want answers pretty soon.’
‘That case doesn’t have anything to do with you any more so I suggest you get
out there and find out who did…this.’
‘We’ve questioned as many suspects as we can…what more do you want us to
do, and why the hell can’t we have a bit more help?’
‘Because you know we just don’t have the manpower. We have officers on the
shop raids and the police murders, and we also have officers still looking into the
killing of the two kids. Just try using your imagination for once in your life man.
There can’t be that many suspects to question. I’ll tell you something else too, this has
Donohue written all over it,’
‘I beg to differ Sir, I don’t think this is Donohue’s style,’ Davis
interrupted causing them both to turn round. Davis continued before his superiors
could reply.
‘You know if we do charge Donohue and these murders continue (and I don’t
think this is the last of them), we’ll be a laughing stock.’
‘Well what are your ideas then Davis?’ Williams asked.
‘Well Sir…I’ve been checking the National Data Base and it seems Frank
Hackett may have more enemies than we first thought…well one in particular, which
has been overlooked anyway.’
‘Go on,’ Carlton pushed.
‘As you know, a certain Bobby Smith escaped from a psychiatric hospital not
too long ago, and was last seen heading this way and for all we know, he could be
roaming the streets of Newcastle right now in search of victims. His main purpose in
life was to seek out Hackett’s family and friends and destroy them.’
His superiors laughed as one before Williams eventually spoke patronisingly.
‘Don’t talk absolutely ridiculous, the reason that mad bastard was locked away
over twenty-years ago was because he chopped seven people up in three days…all
because his beloved horror films were banned…’
‘In all due respect…Hackett chopped him up pretty badly back in 1980 so I for
one think it’s worth looking into…’
Carlton leaned closer and spoke quietly.
‘Listen to me very carefully, I don’t care what you do in your spare time, but
as far as I’m concerned, there’re two major suspects to concentrate on: Johnson and
Donohue, now both of you get out there and question Donohue again, search his
house and raid his pub.’
‘But Sir, we may require more officers and a search warrant.’
‘Look, Davis, we’re looking for guns, you know…things that go bang bang
and generally endanger people’s lives when they’re pointed at them.’
Davis was enraged by Carlton’s arrogance.
‘How dare you speak to me like that you ignorant bastard…I know when
firearms are involved that a warrant isn’t always necessary, but don’t you think
Donohue has been through enough lately Sir? You’ve got a potential suspect sitting
on your lap and you can’t even acknowledge it. Now I suggest to you that you let me
do things by the book, even though it doesn’t mean a thing to you, but Sir…I want to
do things the right way and obtain an appropriate search warrant for each of
Donohue’s properties. If that’s wrong in your eyes; then so be it, but I’ll tell you this
much, searching his properties will be a complete waste of time.’
Davis seemed exhausted after his rant. The occasional shuffling sounds and
low discussions from forensics and police officers, punctuated the awkward silence
that hung in the air. His superiors did a double-take long after he’d finished. Carlton
was the first to reply, and the calmness of the answer surprised Davis somewhat.
‘Well if that’s what you really want; then my answer is yes. Get a search
warrant for all I care, but just remember this…don’t come crying to me if it all goes
tits-up and there’s nobody else to blame but yourself.’
‘Well I’ve got news for you, it probably will go tits-up because Donohue isn’t
our man,’ Davis replied evenly.
Williams glared at Carlton bewildered.
‘Aw come on, this is a fucking wind-up; you can’t seriously expect me to fill
in an affidavit and get a warrant this quickly.’ He used his inhaler, giving Carlton a
chance to interject.
‘I’ll tell the pair of you right now…get out there and do your jobs, because I’m
getting pretty fucking sick of this shit. Davis, if you really want to obtain a warrant,
go and see Cecil Lonsdyke. He was still at home getting pissed with his drunken
mates when I left him, I was having a pretty good card game until more of this murder
shite turned up. You’d better hurry up though, because he’s in court in about three
hours or something. Get to the station afterwards and take some more officers to help
you, I’ll call and inform them. Judge Lonsdyke is a good friend of mine, but he can be
a bit awkward so don’t say I didn’t warn you. After all said and done, there’s nothing
you can do here anyway. As usual, there’s not a single witness to this bloody mess…
nobody’s seen or heard a damn thing.’
Carlton wrote down the address of the judge on a piece of paper and handed it
to Williams before he turned away disgusted at the right thing to do.
‘Now get out of my sight, before I have the fucking pair of you suspended.’
Davis thought it quite amusing that his partner was being put down. After all,
Williams had treated him the same way for weeks.
The two detectives made their way through crowds of uniformed officers
before being confronted by microphones and bombarded with questions from the
local press outside the gate.
‘What do you think of the recent murders that’s plagued our city?’
‘How do you think the public are going to react to the fact that Superintendent
Thornton expressed in all honesty early last year that crime would be down by fifty-
percent?’
‘Do you have any comments about the mysterious slaying in the warehouse?’
‘What about the two kids killed in the drive-by shooting just before
Christmas?’
‘Why is Superintendent Thornton reluctant to become directly involved in the
investigations, and furthermore, where is he?’
Williams nodded towards the house.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything at this stage, but Chief Inspector Carlton
has all the details,’ he said before he climbed into the Passat.
‘Carlton won’t be too pleased about that,’ Davis said.
‘I don’t give a fuck about him, somebody’s got to answer the gutter press and
we’ve got work to do. Why the bloody hell did you have to insist on getting a search
warrant when we’ve got enough shit to be getting on with as it is?’
‘Because it’ll probably save us a lot of hassle in the long run, I mean you
know what it was like on Saturday when we turned up at Donohue’s pub.’
Williams used his inhaler before he started the car.
‘Let’s just get over to this Judge Lonsdyke’s place while the old bastard is still
breathing,’ he retorted.
39 -- THE BLOKE MUST HAVE SOME ENEMIES
DARRAS HALL, NORTHUMBERLAND:
The two officers sat staring at the massive house in awe.
‘Fuck me, I thought Thornton’s house was impressive, this bastard must have
twenty bedrooms at least…I hate the twat,’ Williams said in mid-yawn.
‘You sound like you’re jealous of him or something,’ the sergeant said quietly.
His superior faced him sternly.
‘Jealous…what the hell are you on about…? I live on a brilliant estate, and
my house is nearly as big as his…’
‘Maybe we should just go and knock on the door, otherwise we’ll be sat here
all bloody day,’ Davis sighed, climbing from the Passat.
They hurried towards the huge double gates, and Williams became annoyed
when he noticed the intricate intercom system – he hated technology.
‘How the fuck are we supposed to understand this? It’s like a load of double-
Dutch to me.’
Davis barged in front of his view and began pressing the keypad. He waited a
while until a metallic voice uttered something inaudible from the speaker.
‘Well Thornton did say he’ll be pissed,’ the Inspector quipped as the gates
swung slowly inwards.
They made their way through the large immaculate garden towards the
mansion. Davis turned back, curiously glancing at the moving security camera at the
side of the gates as they slowly closed behind them.
‘Christ, the bloke must have some enemies…the place is like a fortress,’ he
said loudly above the wind.’
Williams’ voice was equally as loud when he replied.
‘The old bastard’s put plenty of innocent people away in his time take my
word for it…innocent and guilty in fact. He’s not exactly Mr Popular amongst
Newcastle’s underworld, so you can understand why he’s got all this…’ A loud
screeching sound froze the pair of them on the spot.
‘What the hell is that?’ Williams wheezed loudly in fright, turning around in
all directions. Davis crouched and saw the beam on his superior’s leg. He stood
upright.
‘We might as well just keep on walking because I think there’ll be more of
them,’ he said, and sure enough, by the time they reached the front door, the air was
filled with screaming alarms because they’d tripped most of the infa-red traps on the
way.
When they reached the house, they noticed that all the windows had been
bricked up. Davis craned his neck and stared towards the corner of the roof; he could
just make out another security camera. He pointed upwards and was about to
comment, when a haggard and bleary face appeared in front of them.
Cecil Lonsdyke was in his mid-sixties of average size. His unkempt greying
hair hung loosely across his forehead and the detectives noticed the brief waft of
whisky in the air. An expensive silk dressing gown reached his ankles.
Williams couldn’t quite understand why they didn’t hear the door opening, but
Davis was more scientific – he knew the alarms mixed with the wind had masked the
sound and motion.
‘Will you please turn those bloody alarms off?’ The Inspector shouted.
Cecil Lonsdyke muttered something that neither of the detectives caught
before he invited them in clumsily. He closed the door behind him before he closed an
even more secure one. Davis looked on in awe as the five-inch thick tempered steel
door closed and the Judge secured the electronic locks.
When they were half-way down the seemingly never-ending corridor,
Lonsdyke turned to glance at his reflection in the immense brass framed mirror. He
paused, prompting the detectives to pause also. Williams took a couple of bursts from
his inhaler before he spoke.
‘Are you okay…Mr…Jud…’ he glanced at Davis, wondering what title he
should use. The DS spoke evenly.
‘Excuse me, Judge Lonsdyke, but can we give you any assistance?’
The Judge began mumbling to his own reflection, oblivious to his two visitors.
‘You know…I…I used to be a real dapper looking gent in my day…I could
certainly pull the ladies I can tell you. I still can as far as that goes.’ A raucous
laughing fit gripped him, which seemed as though it would last forever until an
attractive naked blonde woman in her mid-twenties appeared further up the hallway.
Her voice was as slurred as Lonsdyke’s.
‘Oh Cecil baby…I don’t think playtime is over yet. Do your two friends want
to join in?’ Williams and Davis glanced at each other bewildered, as another woman
(this time a brunette) clad in only black stockings and suspenders rushed from the
huge living room to appear behind the blonde. She was the younger of the two.
‘Look, Judge, you know why we’re here, we need a search warrant and then
we’ll be on our way,’ Davis said quickly. Lonsdyke led them towards a study. They
paused to glance into the huge living room and Williams nodded in acknowledgement
to a young, half-dressed constable who was about to snort a line of cocaine from the
coffee table upon which was a stupendous pile of the white powder.
There was also a sergeant, who he recognised but didn’t know his name – he
was also about to snort evidence. The Judge’s slurred, whisky smelling voice
suddenly brought both policemen back to his to his attention.
‘Listen boys, despite w…what that…that arsehole Carlton told you…I just
haven’t got the time for…for…for…’
‘Listen you dirty drunken bastard, I want a search warrant, and I want one
now…do you understand me you stupid fucking arsehole? Now either you sort this
out or we’ll just go ahead and smash our designated destinations up without a second
thought, and believe me Lonsdyke, I mean business. I’m in charge of this case now
so…I’d advise you to…’
The Judge suddenly became sober and angry as they entered his study.
‘If I don’t want to give you a warrant, I don’t really bloody have to. But keep
this in mind…who the fuck can I trust when every police officer I come in contact
with is a crook one way or another?’
Williams fell against the wall and pulled out his inhaler. He bent double,
staring at the space between his feet; he looked up and was about to speak again, but
Davis beat him to it.
‘This is in everybody’s best interests, Mr Lonsdyke…there’s a seriously
dangerous man out there committing brutal murders against…fair enough they aren’t
the most savoury victims but we have a duty to bring him to justice and to stop this
sort of thing from happening again…’
The Judge wasn’t impressed.
‘Now just listen to me the pair of you, do you know how many crooks I’ve
banged up for minor offences in my time just because I was paid handsomely by your
colleagues? Have you any idea how many innocent people I’ve put away just so it
looks like the bent police force are achieving results and keeping the crime figures
down? I might be a dirty drunken bastard in your eyes Williams, but I’ll tell you
something, I’m just another puppet in this sordid game…I’m a winner, and I have a
lot more power over any of you lot. Frank Hackett is a very good friend of mine, we
go back years, even before that unfortunate incident with the Johnson kids, so don’t
you dare come to my house and make demands…I can have you both bloody sacked
if I wanted. Who the bloody hell do you think you’re talking to?’
Williams leaned forward regarding Lonsdyke with contempt, unperturbed by
the Judge’s authoritative rant.
‘I’ll ask you one more time, Lonsdyke, are you going to give us a warrant or
not?’
The Judge contemplated the question for a moment before he stormed from
the study, arms folded and head back, like a reprimanded spoilt schoolgirl, sulking
because she was grounded. The detectives glanced at each other, shaking their heads.
‘What now?’ Davis asked.
Williams merely shook his head even more vigorously and quickly followed
Lonsdyke into the living room.
Lonsdyke slumped into a space between two more naked women; they threw
their arms around him willingly. He spoke with confidence.
‘Look lads…if you want to indulge; then be my guest.’
As soon as Williams reached the coffee table, he pulled out a credit card to
arrange two lines of cocaine; then snorted the drug loudly. Davis looked on in
disgust, witnessing even more corruption in his relatively new job.
‘Listen, Harry, I thought you wanted to get to Donohue’s pub,’ he strained his
neck beyond the living room door and waited for ages, until Williams replied fast and
harsh.
‘Relax and have a drink; it’s not like Donohue’s going to emigrate in the next
hour or so.’
Davis began to understand why the Judge had such tight security. The house
was like an undiscovered world.
After forty-minutes he became impatient. He was about to shout again when
Williams appeared with the judge and the search warrant. They were both in high
spirits compared to the last time he saw them; he’d never heard Williams sound so
happy. Probably the coke, he thought.
An hour later, they were on the way to The Lion’s Den accompanied by
twelve officers.
‘You know Harry, this is all wrong…I have a bad feeling about this. I just
think it’s all a complete waste of time because I don’t believe that Donohue’s
involved in any of this,’ Davis muttered, which angered his superior.
‘ I’ve known Donohue for a hell of a lot longer than you and let me tell you…
if we have to tear the bloody place down brick-by-brick then so be it, because I’m
determined to find something to incriminate the bastard,’
Davis shook his head and sighed in resignation.
When they stormed the pub, it was surprisingly quite empty. Williams smugly
held the warrant inches from Donohue’s face.
‘You can do whatever you like fatso, I’ve got nothing to hide,’ Donohue said
before he continued with his pool game.
Over an hour later Williams and his colleagues left red-faced and speechless
and headed towards his house. Mason turned to Donohue grinning.
‘Where the hell did you hide your cannon?’ he asked. Donohue pulled his
jacket back and lifted his shirt to reveal the Smith and Wesson. He also pulled out the
bag of skunk.
‘It’s a good job the stupid bastards didn’t search me,’ he said as he made for
the bar for a single Jameson. Mason followed him. Donohue stared into his glass for a
while before he spoke.
‘There’s something weird about this, that’s two of Hackett’s goons dead in
just a few days…who the fuck is responsible? Guess what else, and this is the really
scary part…whoever the killer is, I think he’s using my guns.’
Mason looked puzzled.
‘What do you mean by that?’
Donohue told him about the burglary and his missing guns and ammo.
‘But how do you know he’s using your guns? It could be anybody.’
‘You heard what the fat bastard said just after he came in here, a sawn-off
shotgun and a handgun were used in both murders, and I have a pretty good idea who
it is too…that fucking psycho copper, Johnson…it has to be, he’s trying to stitch me
up. I tell you something though, he’d better pray he’s caught before I get to him.’
‘Don’t you think you’d better follow them to your house in case they wreck
the place?’ Mason asked.
‘Well there’s not much more they can wreck is there Len?’
40 -- WELCOME TO HELL
WESTERHOPE, TYNE & WEAR:
DS Will Harrison couldn’t be bothered to take the car out of the garage for the half-
mile journey to the off licence for a bottle of Glen Morange malt whisky.
The wind had surprisingly calmed down in the last hour or so, for which he
was grateful – he needed some air anyway. He glanced at his watch and realised that
he only had ten-minutes until the shop closed so he quickened his pace.
He knew he could force the owners to serve him (like he normally did) when
he couldn’t quite get there on time, but nervousness gripped him tonight and he knew
why. It was only the night before that Carlton had warned him to be on his guard at all
times. At first, he shrugged off the warning thinking that he was untouchable because
he was a policeman, but he knew there was a vicious killer on the loose who just
didn’t care what kind of damage he inflicted – maybe even an inspector too. The
thought of Johnson frightened him.
The detective’s deep thoughts meant that he didn’t notice the black Fiat Punto
cruising slowly fifty-feet behind him. It had been following him since he left his
house minutes earlier.
The car pulled up as the DS entered the shop. The driver waited patiently for a
few minutes until Harrison emerged with a carrier bag. When he was an appropriate
distance away, the driver started the Fiat and continued to follow him until the
detective reached his house. The driver turned off the engine and waited. Angry blue
eyes watched the house intently.
Harrison threw his coat over the banister before rushing into the kitchen. He
opened the bottle of whisky and poured himself a large measure, he gulped it down;
then poured himself another. He brought the bottle to the living room, flopped into his
armchair and turned on the TV. He flicked through the stations disinterestedly until he
settled on the Discovery channel.
His white tom cat trotted towards him and sat at his feet while he downed his
second whisky and poured another. He’d been on the sick with constant headaches
since the battle in Hackett’s office. He still couldn’t understand why Hackett went to
all the trouble of buying tickets, only to treat Donohue and Mason like wild geese.
However, he could understand why Donohue lashed out the way he did. He had a
strong feeling that even more hell would break loose when Hackett returned to
England.
He glanced at the framed photo of his wife and daughter, which was perched
on top of a mahogany bookcase to the left of the TV, and he briefly wondered what
they were doing at the moment. They’d separated seven months earlier because she’d
found out about his affair with a female colleague.
Another separated or divorced police officer, he thought bitterly.
He reached down to stroke his cat but it was gone. He leaned forward and
noticed that it was sat in the doorway staring towards the front door, eyes wide and
tail wagging harshly. He called its name, but it didn’t acknowledge him.
He decided to check if he’d locked the front door because lately he sometimes
forgot, he’d even left it unlocked all night, two nights ago. He turned the handle and
pulled. The door opened.
‘Shit,’ he hissed under his breath before he turned back to the living room to
find his keys.
The aluminium baseball bat was swung with such force from the dark confines
of the kitchen that it shattered his left kneecap beyond repair. He instinctively bent
low grabbing his destroyed leg, his scream of agony was short lived as another blow
from the weapon connected with the back of his head. He fell to the floor heavily, but
somehow, he still managed to cling onto consciousness and crawl towards the living
room. The bat struck again, smashing his right shoulder. He began to feel dizzy and
nauseous.
After a while he managed to turn onto his back to get a look at his attacker, but
all he could see was a tall figure clad in baggy blue overalls and a ski mask. There
was a pause for about twenty-seconds before the intruder reigned a new series of
blows onto the DS. The ferocious attack didn’t cease until the assailant was sure that
the victim was as near death as he would get. His face was a bloodied broken mess,
most of his teeth had been dislodged and every limb was smashed.
The killer left the house and returned moments later with a leather holdall.
Harrison could just make out the Bignotti sawn-off shotgun pointing towards his
groin.
‘Welcome to hell.’ They were the last words he heard before both triggers
were pulled. The murderer finished him off with a bullet from the Glock before
carefully placing an envelope on the banister and abruptly leaving.
41 -- NO HOME, NO JOB AND NO MONEY
Donohue felt the familiar vibrating sensation in his pocket when his mobile rang. He
glanced at the display – it was Dawn. He cursed when he remembered that he was
supposed to call her two-hours ago.
‘Hello babes, how you doing?’ He asked. She sounded frightened instead of
angry.
‘Tom, where are you, can you please come over to Brenda’s? He’s been
prowling around outside.’
‘Who’s been prowling around, what the hell are you talking about?’
Donohue was perplexed.
‘It’s Alan, he turned up in his car and started making threats…Christ he even
has a gun.
Donohue turned towards Mason and Henshall for a brief moment.
‘How do you know he has a gun?’
‘Because I’ve seen it, and he says he’s going to blow the house up if I don’t
come to the door and talk to him.’
‘What kind of gun has he got?’ He asked impatiently.
‘How the bloody hell should I know what kind of gun he’s got, it’s dark this
time of night in case you didn’t know.’
‘Is he still there?’
‘No, but he might be back so please get over here?’
‘Okay give me a few minutes babe, and by the way whatever you do, don’t
open the door to the bastard…and don’t call the police.’ He put his phone back
in his pocket and rushed outside to Mason’s BMW, flicking to the floor the last of the
joint he was smoking.
‘What’s up mate?’ Mason shouted after him. He ignored the question and
climbed into the vehicle. He was glad he hadn’t had much to drink; he was becoming
tired of drinking himself into a stupor every time a crisis came up.
He patted his Smith & Wesson reassuringly before he started the car and sped
off towards Gosforth. He briefly wondered if he should inspect the inevitable mess the
police would’ve made of his house en route, but knew it would only waste time so he
decided against it. He hoped his music collection wasn’t damaged.
He had a more worrying thought on his mind at the moment though: what the
hell was Alan Elliott doing going around with a gun, and was it one of his stolen
guns? Surely not. He shook his head at the frightening thought.
When he reached his destination, he parked the car across the street and waited
for a few minutes, observing the house, not noticing the black car occupied by DI
Johnson parked a hundred feet up the street. In fact, he didn’t even realise that the
detective had followed him all the way from The Lion’s Den.
Johnson sat impassively, watching intently, never taking his bleary blue eyes
from the BMW even as he lit a cigarette with the dashboard lighter. He shifted
uncomfortably in his seat as a wave of extreme pain shot through his lower back. He
grimaced for a moment until the agony subsided. He knew he couldn’t take any more
morphine, for he’d already exceeded the stated dose that afternoon.
He patted the automatic weapon before he took a long swig of whisky from his
hip flask, which distorted his face as the fiery spirit caused even more pain. He
touched the gun again.
‘It won’t be long before it’s your turn Donohue and that’s a promise,’ he
rasped.
Donohue sounded his horn twice in succession; he waited until he caught a
glimpse of Dawn when she pulled the living room curtain back and peered through
the window. He climbed from the car and hurried across the street towards the front
door.
‘Get inside quickly, before the bloody lunatic comes back,’ Dawn said
nervously. He noticed that she was shaking and her eyes were red-rimmed as though
she’d been crying. She threw her arms around him when he closed the door.
‘Thank God, Tom, I was so scared…I just don’t know what the mad bastard is
capable of anymore.’ She led him towards the living room, which was decorated in
awful floral patterns much to his distaste – even the three-piece suite was a sickly
pink colour adorned with floral cushions.

The TV was on mute and he was about to speak when he recognised the face
on the screen – it was DS Will Harrison.
‘Put the sound back on quick,’ he said. She reached for the remote control and
pressed the mute button, the voice of the correspondent filled the room.
‘The body of Detective Sergeant Will Harrison was found by his next door
neighbour shortly after nine-thirty last night. He’d been brutally battered and shot to
death. The killing is the latest in a wave of murders that has swept the city in recent
weeks…’
‘Jesus bloody Christ, this maniac wants it all, he was just a bent copper,’
Donohue remarked in bewilderment.
‘Did you know him or something?’
‘Yeah, I’ve had some dealings with him in the past, and he was a real bastard
to say the least…I won’t be shedding any tears.’ He was about to turn away when
Chief Inspector Bob Carlton appeared on the screen.
‘It’s too early at this stage to confirm whether or not the three recent murders
are connected, but our resources are stretched to the limit. We’ve set up an incident
room and we have a team of investigators working around the clock. We urge
members of the public who may have seen or heard anything suspicious (no matter
how insignificant it may be) to come forward…’
‘Jesus, how many incident rooms is that now? You know, it really pisses me
off that the pig bastards pull out all the stops when it comes to one of their own. When
it comes to somebody important like Cath’s kids though, they just couldn’t give a shit,
and I know why…because they know exactly who’s responsible and they can’t and
won’t do a damn thing about it.’
He slumped into the ghastly couch and was surprised at how comfortable it
was. He leaned forward and stared into space for a moment.
‘Are you okay? You look awful.’ Dawn’s voice was soft and soothing.
‘Yeah, I’m okay I suppose, I’m just a bit tired that’s all. It’s been one long
week I can tell you, and sleeping in the damn pub night after night doesn’t help
matters much. Where’s Brenda anyway?’
‘I thought I told you, she’s staying at her Mother’s for a week or so; she won’t
be back until next Sunday night so stay here for a while. At least you’ll have a
comfortable bed for a few nights.’
He shook his head slowly.
‘Look Dawn, as I’ve already said…it’s too dangerous to be around me at the
moment, especially with this damn nutter roaming the streets, and I’ve got to look
after my shitty pub…’
She stood with her hands held out, glaring at the ceiling before their eyes met.
‘Oh come on, Tom, the only reason I got you over here in the first place was
because that maniac ex of mine was hanging around waving a bloody gun outside the
house. I mean what if he comes back? As for looking after your pub, why don’t you
phone your friend Lenny and ask him to help out…he is the head doorman after all,
and it’s only for a couple of nights. I’ll make it worth your while.’ She winked
mischievously.
Donohue was too tired to argue.
‘All right, all right, anything for a quiet life.’ He phoned Mason on his mobile.
‘Listen Lenny, I won’t be around until sometime Sunday afternoon, so don’t
hesitate to ring me if anything weird happens.’ He also told Mason about DS
Harrison’s murder but his friend had already found out a few minutes earlier.
When he’d finished, he turned off his mobile and leaned back, closing his eyes
for a while. Dawn sat next to him and he felt her lips gently brush against his; he
responded urgently throwing his arms around her. He began fumbling with the
buttons of her blouse until she pulled away.
‘Don’t you think it’ll be a lot more romantic upstairs?’ Her voice was
seductive as she took his hand and led him towards the spare bedroom. When they
entered she turned on the light and Donohue was greeted with even more awful pink
floral patterns.
‘I must say, your friend has appalling taste in décor,’ he mocked. She playfully
punched the top of his arm.
‘You’re not here to redecorate, you’re here to give me a good seeing to big
boy.’ She turned on the bedside lamp; then turned off the main light before she lay on
the bed staring up at him enticingly. She beckoned him over, took his hand and
pulled him down towards her slowly. They began to kiss passionately, tongues
probing, hands stroking and exploring each other through their clothes. He worked on
her blouse again until he was able to open it to expose her bra. He was struggling to
take off her blouse so she sat up to make the task easier. She decided to unfasten her
bra herself to reveal pert breasts. The erect brown nipples aroused him to hardness; he
gently sucked and flicked each one in turn with his tongue while his right hand moved
slowly down her body until he could feel the warmness of her crotch through her
jeans.
He began to rub her most sensitive area vigorously savouring her moans of
intensifying excitement.
‘Take them off,’ she said breathlessly. He unzipped her jeans and slid them
down her legs; then he peeled off her damp knickers. He stood so he could easily pull
the garments from her.

He remained on his feet for a moment taking in her naked beauty as she lay
with her legs apart, her knees raised to afford him a better view of her shaven vulva.
He also began to undress and soon they were on the bed completely naked, kissing
every inch of each other amorously, becoming more aroused with each touch.
Before long they were in the 69 position devouring each other greedily but
slowly, savouring each tingling sensation. When Donohue had almost reached the
point of no return, he quickly rolled her off him and they began to kiss more
passionately this time, tasting each other’s musky sex.
Dawn turned him onto his back and sat astride him; she took hold of his
throbbing erection, slowly positioning the tip so it brushed her soaking outer vaginal
lips teasingly. She continued this procedure for a while until neither could wait any
longer. She lowered herself onto him until his whole length disappeared inside her. A
sharp gasp of pleasure escaped her lips and she remained in the same position for a
few seconds before she began to move slowly up and down, delighting in his moans
of sexual bliss.
She bit her bottom lip as her speed built up to a steady rhythm. She could
already feel the first feelings of her climax approaching, but she knew she had to hold
back for now.
His hands toyed with her breasts, squeezing her nipples gently; then found
their way to her buttocks, which he began to knead briskly, helping the speed of her
rhythm to increase.
Her squeals of delight now mingled with his own grunts of rapture as she rode
him fiercely, never wanting their love making to end. She threw back her head,
closing her eyes tightly and remembered how good this actually felt with the man of
her dreams. It had never felt like this with anybody else.
‘Oh Tom baby I love you,’ she began to repeat louder with each rapid
movement.
‘Oh Tom baby I love you,’
She could tell he was on the very brink of an extreme orgasm by the way his
fingers gripped her ever tighter, and by the increasing sounds of joy that escaped his
wide open mouth. He even slid a finger in her anus to intensify her excitement; it sent
her into a wild frenzy and she knew that it was time for her to let go when she felt her
own sensations building to a peak again. There was no way she could stop herself
now even if she tried.
‘Oh Tom baby…I love you,’
Wave after beautiful wave of pure indescribable pleasure swept over them as
they exploded in orgasmic unison; their whole bodies racked with uncontrollable
shudders. Her deafening screams reverberated around the bedroom, only just
drowning out her lover’s shouts of fulfilment. Tears of acute ecstasy ran down her
face to mix with her sticky perspiration as she experienced the most intense and
prolonged orgasm of her life. She’d waited so long for this kind of experience.
When it was over, they collapsed in each others arms with exhaustion and
Gratification. All the tension from the last few weeks had dissolved for the time
being.
Ten-minutes passed before either spoke.
‘Are you okay babes, you do know that I love you don’t you?’ She whispered
in his ear.
‘I know you do sweetheart…and I think a lot of you too but you know…’
She jumped off him abruptly.

‘frigging hell Tom, why can’t you just admit that you love me as much as I
love you? Didn’t what just happened between the two of us mean anything to you at
all?’ She leaned across him reaching for the box of Lambert and Butler. She pulled
out a cigarette, lit it and lay on her back gazing at the ceiling, her next words were
tearful.
‘I would really like to think that we were going places, but…I just don’t know
what the hell goes on in that head of yours. I wish I could be you for…just one day…
maybe I could figure out what you’re thinking and how you feel.’
Donohue sighed and also reached for a cigarette, leaning on his left elbow. He
stared into her sad eyes and tried to capture her attention, but she still stared at the
ceiling, sounding hollow and distant almost as though she was speaking to herself in
her sleep.
‘The only thing I’ve really wanted in my whole life ever since I was about five
or something, was somebody who would care for me and be there for me whenever I
needed them. My parents split up when I was seven, after years of abusing each other,
and not one of them showed the least bit interest in me…whatsoever; they’re both
dead now and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I haven’t even made many friends
up here since I moved from Manchester. Brenda’s the only one I really trust. Now
I’ve finally found who I thought to be the perfect partner…he doesn’t care either.’
She turned her back to him and faced the window, stubbing out her half-finished
cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside cabinet.
Donohue moved closer and put his arms around her, placing his knees
perfectly into the back of hers like a missing piece from a jigsaw puzzle. He kissed
the back of her neck and was glad when she omitted a stifled groan. He gripping her
tighter.
‘How come you’ve never said anything about it before?’
Dawn shifted her head slightly; she tried to face him, but their snugness made
it too difficult. Her voice sounded sexily husky and he almost squeezed one of her
nipples.
‘You know Tom…Alan has been a real bastard to me over the years…he’s…’
She began to sob much to his concern. He gripped her fragile shuddering frame.
‘What’s up babes? I swear to God, if he’s hurt you…’
‘Oh he hurt me all right and I’ll make no bones about it. The way he acted
when he found out about us…what a bloody hypocrite.’
‘I’ve lost count of the women he’s been with behind my back, and the funny
thing is, he thinks I don’t know about his little charades but I caught him out a few
times in the past. Dirty slags in and out of the house when he thought I wasn’t around,
but I watched him saying his sweet goodbyes to at least seven of them on the doorstep
in the past. I used to pretend I was going to the shops, or Brenda’s or somewhere, but
instead I hid across the street watching the house…sometimes for hours.’ She re-lit
her cigarette.
‘One time, two of the scantily-dressed bitches knocked on the door and when
they came out two hours later, they were still getting dressed…not that it mattered
because their skimpy whore gear didn’t conceal much anyway. God Tom, one of them
was supposed to be my friend.’
Donohue was amazed.
‘I wished you’d told me earlier.’
‘I just had to grin and bear it. So you see Tom, I’m not the only guilty one…
that bastard’s been at it for years. I confronted him about it once so he blackened my
eye and knocked my teeth out for my trouble. Why do you think I’ve got a porcelain
bridge?’
Donohue sat upright and stroked his goatee.
‘Is that the time when you said you’d slipped in…’
‘Slipped in the bath,’ she finished for him. There was a long silence as
Donohue tried to digest the words.
‘The cowardly bastard. How the hell did he manage to attract so many
women? I mean he’s hardly a sex God is he?’
Dawn turned onto her back again.
‘He could use plenty of charm when he wanted to, how do think he ensnared
me?’
Donohue sighed.
‘Why did you put up with it? I can’t understand why you never left him ages
ago,’ his voice was too loud and condescending for her liking.
‘Where the hell could I go Tom? As I’ve already told you, I don’t have any
family and hardly any friends round here, and moving back to Manchester after all
these years…well what would be the point in that? Everybody I knew down there
would’ve moved on by now…marriage…kids...I didn’t want to land on Brenda’s
doorstep until now, and that’s because I was at the end of my tether. I used to be
happy and independent; I had a good job, friends, my own place, but I left all that
behind just so I could move up here to be with him.’ Tears welled up in her eyes
again.
‘Look at me now, Tom…no home, no job and no money. The only thing I care
about is a part-time boyfriend who only ever sees me when it suits him. Who the hell
cares though, it’s only poor old Dawn who brought it all on herself.’
Donohue embraced her and gently kissed her forehead.
‘Don’t talk like that babe, you’ll always have me no matter what, I’m not
going anywhere. Like I told you before, when all this crap has blown over we’ll get a
place of our own…and that’s a promise.’
‘Will it ever be over? That’s the question Tom, all I want is a decent normal
life and maybe one day a family…it’s not too much to ask is it?’
He lit another cigarette before he told a story of his own.
‘Cath wasn’t as innocent as people think either believe it or not. I once caught
her red-handed going at it like hammer and tongs with some greasy arsehole…in my
bed. It wasn’t the first time either. I threw him into the street in his birthday suit; he
got his clothes back the next day…incinerated, and guess what…I got arrested for
criminal damage. Christ it was lucky the kids were at school at the time. I could’ve
easily have brought that up at the funeral but we agreed to put it behind us and never
mention it again. Besides, it wasn’t exactly the time and place for such a revelation
was it?’
Dawn stubbed out her cigarette before she faced him with a shocked
expression.
‘Well she was a bloody dark horse…when did all this happen?’
‘Last March, and it’d been going on for a few months or so, I don’t know
exactly how long but it was long enough in my opinion. Her sorry excuse was along
the lines of me being too busy to pay her any attention, which was utter bullshit.
Anyway, I’ve never really felt quite the same about her since; don’t get me wrong, I
still found her incredibly attractive and the sex was sometimes good, but that’s all it
was…sex, there were never any emotions there. The only reason I nearly married her
was because I thought it might change my feelings towards her, but it was the wrong
reason. If I’m honest with myself, I probably wouldn’t have gone through with it
anyway; we’d been fighting like a couple of welterweights for bloody months.’ His
voice became bitter.
‘Why do you think the father of her sons pissed off about eleven years ago?
She told me it was because he was a dealer, but I don’t know how many lies she’s told
me over the years. There were always signs, but being as trusting as I used to be, I just
let it go…I know for a fact there were others. It’s pretty ironic that I’ve never even
been allowed to broach the subject of her infidelity…like it was my fault. I hate to
speak ill of the dead, but she could be a real bitch sometimes. Mind you, her ex was a
bastard too…he didn’t even turn up for his own kids’ funeral.’
They began to kiss passionately, and before long, they were making love
again.
42 -- TIME TO MEET THE DEVIL
HEATON, TYNE & WEAR:
Chris Bradley was lying on his back in bed, thinking about vengeance; he stared up at
the ugly cream paper and wire light shade, contemplating whether or not to call a few
of his psycho friends and visit Donohue’s pub.
All they had to do was storm the place and shoot it up including any clientele
that got in the way. The only trouble was though, he was actually frightened of
Donohue; he knew he could handle himself after the episode in Hackett’s office
weeks before. Besides, he’d been thinking the same thing for a while now and he’d
never put any plans into action – he knew he probably never will.
With Skinner, Dawson and Harrison dead he realised he could be next in line
for slaughter. He thought it was too much of a coincidence that three people (all
connected to Hackett) were brutally slain. He couldn’t figure out whether it was some
kind of gang war being waged in Hackett’s absence – the police and press weren’t
giving much away. Maybe they were as baffled as everybody else.
His jaw was still wired up and he couldn’t eat properly. The fucking bastard
will pay for this one way or another, he thought bitterly.
‘I thought you had to go to Byker for eleven to meet somebody,’ Sue, his
girlfriend said as she stroked his bare chest. He glanced at the bedside clock and
realised that it was already 10:30pm.
‘Shit, why the fuck didn’t you tell me, you stupid bitch?’ He snapped
painfully, jumping out of bed and hastily pulling on his clothes.
‘Don’t have a go at me, you’re the one who’s been lying there for the last hour
staring into space like a Muppet,’ she shouted back.
‘You blonde bitches are all the same, no fucking brains whatsoever, now pass
me my mobile because if I don’t shift this gear tonight, you can forget about your
birthday present on Wednesday,’ he said through clenched teeth.
He grabbed the kilo of cut cannabis resin from the dressing table and stuffed it
into a holdall before turning to face his girlfriend.
‘Right I’m off and I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’
‘Oh don’t worry about me, pop round at any time, it’s only my flat after all but
you just come and go and fuck me as you please,’ she replied sarcastically.
‘Don’t worry, I will, bitch,’ he seethed before he disappeared into the hall and
descended the stairs. He paused at the bottom, trying to hear the words his girlfriend
shouted after him, but the nonsensical syllables sounded like the usual threats, so he
rushed towards the front door and made a rapid exit.

When he reached the garden gate, he turned round, paused and stared at the
ground thoughtfully for a while. He suddenly rushed towards the front door, and
began shouting through the letterbox.
‘I’ll come round here any time I like, you fucking slag…so get that into your
thick fucking head.’ He listened intently, waiting for a reply. He hastily ran back
down the garden path when he heard her heavy footsteps on the stairs.
She wrenched open the front door and threw one of her shoes in his direction,
it missed by inches, hitting the neighbour’s Volvo and setting off the alarm. He ran
down the street leaving her to shout obscenities after him.
When he reached the end, he slowed to a brisk pace. He always regretted the
way he wound his girlfriend up – if only she would see the funny side once in a while.
They’d met seven months earlier when he sold her some ecstasy tablets in a club one
night. She was thirty-one, eleven years his senior, but he didn’t care, the fact that she
was extremely experienced in bed was all that mattered to him.
He glanced at his watch and realised that he had fifteen-minutes to get to
Byker. He hoped he could get a metro without having to wait too long in the freezing
cold; the wind had picked up again.
He didn’t notice the black Fiat Punto cruising slowly behind, the driver’s blue
eyes burned into his back with an intense hatred. The killer knew that this murder had
to be swift unlike the others; it would prove too risky to attempt an abduction.
The electric window wound down as the car crept alongside him, Bradley was
only a few feet away. Both barrels of the 12 gauge Bignotti Sawn-off shotgun
protruded from the open window.
‘Hey scumbag…time to meet the devil.’
Bradley turned towards the voice. He bent and moved closer to the vehicle,
squinting against the wind. When his face was mere inches away from the two barrels,
his eyes widened in realisation and terror. He tried to see who his enemy was, but the
face was hidden behind a ski mask. Before he could ponder any further, both triggers
were pulled. The effect of the blast from such close range was devastating; his whole
head was completely blown from his neck in all directions; pieces of brain tissue and
skull (even an intact eyeball) amidst a torrent of blood, splattered onto the wall and
pavement. Some of the lumpy redness even splashed the driver, who hastily drove
away from the terrible scene.

43 -- IT COULD BE HIS WIFE AND KIDS NEXT
THE STATION:
Carlton, Williams and Davis had been in Thornton’s office for over an hour.
‘I’m telling you, you’re talking out of your arse, Davis man, I’ll be surprised if
they haven’t already picked up that psycho and he’s on the way back to the loony bin
as we speak.’ Williams was becoming more annoyed and frustrated by the minute.
Davis threw a file on Bobby Smith across the desk towards him.
‘Why don’t you at least look at it, Christ have any of you even read the damn
thing?’
It was Carlton’s turn to become annoyed.
‘Whether we’ve read the bloody file or not Davis, this is just a fantasy going
on in your head, now just snap out of it.’
Williams used his inhaler before he intervened.
‘Just remember, unless you can come with up something solid and conclusive
which will help this case, I suggest you don’t bother even trying. I thought I told you
about pissing about with that theory…you’re stabbing in the dark man. I’m in charge
of this case, and I’d appreciate it if you stop…’
‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t keep banging on about being in charge
Williams, the only person in charge of this murder enquiry is me. You might do all
the leg work but you take orders from me…nobody else,’ Carlton snapped.
Davis grinned behind his hand, bewildered at how petty these so-called
veterans of the force could be.
The door abruptly opened startling the trio in the office. Superintendent Jack
Thornton’s voice was harsh, and the colour drained from Carlton’s face.
‘Well that’s a matter of opinion, Bob, but let me get this into your head: I’m in
charge of this investigation effective immediately.’
‘W…when did y…you get back, Sir?’ Williams asked.
‘I got back just now as you can see you fool, and by Christ I’m going to knock
this place into shape. I turn my back for five-minutes and the whole place falls down
the bloody toilet…what the hell’s been going on?’
‘What…what do you mean, Sir?’ Davis asked.
‘For a start what the hell are you lot doing in my office? and who in God’s
name set up the bloody incident room? It’s a complete shambles and this foolishness
is totally unacceptable. There’s been four murders and not one of you lot have come
up with a single thing.’
‘With respect Sir, but there’s actually been six murders if you include the
Elliott kids,’ Davis said. Carlton rolled his eyes in annoyance.
‘I’ve already told you, we no longer have anything to do with that case.’
Thornton scowled.
‘Well how about I go one step further…that case is closed, do you
understand…closed, so I suggest that you concentrate on these recent murders. For
the love of God man, how do you think Hackett’s going to react when he steps off the
plane? It could be his wife and kids next.’
Davis jumped to his feet.
‘What do you mean closed? We’re talking about two innocent children here
Sir, we can’t just pretend it never happened. These latest killings might be nasty but
my God, none of the victims were exactly innocent were they?’
‘Listen carefully Davis, and this goes for all of you, as far as everybody’s
concerned Skinner killed those kids and now he’s dead so I’d call that pretty
conclusive, wouldn’t you? I’ll be attending a press conference this afternoon to set the
record straight. As for your comments, Davis, one of those none-innocent victims as
you put it just happens to have been a police officer. That’s three officers in under a
month. Now get your fingers out, get out there and follow up some bloody leads.
Exasperated, Davis slumped back into his seat knowing that arguing further
was pointless.
‘But Sir, we don’t have anything more to do with those robberies,’ Williams
said as he toyed with his inhaler. Thornton took off his cap and sat behind his desk.
‘What do you mean by that?’
Williams and Davis nodded towards Carlton as one.

‘He pulled us off that case and assigned somebody else to take over,’ the DI
said smugly. Thornton got back to his feet.
‘Did he now? What the hell gives you the right to make a decision like that
behind my back?’ He shouted. Carlton’s face flushed with anger.
‘Well excuse me Sir, but if I remember correctly you left me in charge of this
whole mess while you went on holiday by the sea and nobody’s been able to reach
you since…even the press are calling you an incompetent coward…we can’t get in
touch with Hackett, and Johnson’s vanished into thin air as if the bastard never even
existed in the first bloody place.’
Davis sat listening intently, barely able to believe what he was hearing. Never
in all his career had he witnessed such a mockery. Johnson tried to tell him about this
shambolic and corrupt department weeks ago, but he was too naïve to take it in at the
time. He understood all too well now though; he’d never heard of this kind of policing
before – not even in films about crooked cops. None of them were doing their jobs
properly whatsoever and it sickened him to his stomach.
‘Who have you questioned in my absence anyway?’ Thornton demanded.
‘Sir, we’ve questioned almost every potential suspect (more than once) we can
think of except Johnson and Alan Elliott,’ Davis answered evenly.
‘We even obtained a warrant to search Donohue’s properties, but he’s as clean
as the Queen’s knickers,’ Williams added.
‘What about this Elliott bloke. Why haven’t you questioned him?’ Thornton
inquired.
‘We visited his house twice and there was no answer,’ Williams replied before
using his inhaler.
‘Well get over there again, and keep on trying until you get hold of him. Jesus
man, he has a good enough motive as any other suspect, what the hell is wrong with
you?’ Now get out of my sight and do your bloody jobs…oh and Bob, I want a
detailed report on my desk about your actions and progress over the last fortnight, no
later than nine-thirty tomorrow morning, is that clear?’ The Chief Inspector was
mortified.
‘Come on Sir, I need more time than that…’
‘Just do it will you man,’ Thornton snapped.
When the three detectives had left, Thornton reached for the phone and called The
Caesar’s Palace Hotel in Las Vegas. He sighed and ended the call, after he’d left the
same message for Hackett to call back for the thousandth time.
When they reached Elliott’s house, Williams turned off the ignition and
decided to wait for a few minutes for any signs of movement within. He didn’t want
to brave the freezing weather just to discover that the house was empty again.
‘What do you think?’ Davis asked quietly, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
‘I think the bastard is probably out again that’s what I think, and I’ll tell you
something else…’
‘I mean do you think he could have anything to do with these murders?’ Davis
persisted, knowing that it was a waste of time asking his superior such a question.
Williams turned to look him straight in the eye.
‘I shouldn’t think so Colin, but even if he is the psychotic bastard…who the
hell cares… I’ll show fucking Thornton a thing or two…I’ve got more tricks up my
sleeve than him.’ His cackle quickly turned into a wheezing fit, so he pulled out his
inhaler.
The night was silent, and for a change, devoid of a biting wind. Instead a more
intense cold hung in the air.
Davis leaned back on the headrest and stared ahead through the windscreen.
He glanced up the street before he turned in his seat to squint through the back
window, wondering why he didn’t use one of the three mirrors available. There was
nothing and nobody to be seen – nothing unusual. After a while something caught his
attention, which his superior hadn’t noticed.
‘There’s definitely somebody in tonight Harry…the bedroom light is on…it
wasn’t the last time I looked I’m telling you.’ The interior of the car seemed to
harbour an echo of his voice long afterwards. He squinted, his tired eyes trying to
focus on the house. He was sure he could make out the silhouette of a woman drawing
the curtains in an upstairs window.
‘Look, Harry, how much longer are we going to sit here? It’s already after ten
and I’ve got to get home for the babysitter.’
‘Stop moaning will you man, this is all part of the job,’ Williams replied
irritably.
‘God Almighty, we’re not on a bloody stakeout, we’re supposed to be
questioning the man.’
When his colleague didn’t respond, Davis leaned back, sighed and closed his
eyes. After a few minutes, sleep that had eluded him for the last few nights crept up
stealthily.
The thought of his ex-wife soon turned into a hazy nightmare.
It was a hot Summer’s day and the family were sunbathing in the back garden.
Stereophonics were playing on the kitchen radio. Davis squinted in the scorching,
bright sunlight, leaning awkwardly on the patio chair upon which he sat, clad only in
a pair of faded jeans; the legs of which were rolled up to his knees.
He waited until his eyes adjusted to the digits on the wall clock through the
open kitchen door. it was 4:40pm Saturday afternoon and the blistering heat didn’t
seem as though it would give any kind of respite – even this late in the day.
He took a swig from his half-empty can of Fosters lager; instead of
swallowing, he spat the luke-warm, flat liquid onto the grass between his feet. It was
only his fourth can that day, but his wife, Theresa was already busy opening the
second bottle of Gibleys gin. She poured her thirtieth massive measure he guessed.
‘You know…you’re a fucking…fucking…fuck…’ Before she could finish,
Davis
got to his feet and headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water in an attempt to
wash away the foul taste of the sun-heated Australian lager. His wife followed him,
while Timothy, their six-year-old son, decided to cool down in the inflatable pool at
the bottom of the garden.
‘Where you going now…you fucking arsehole…you bastard.’ He ignored her
insults and grabbed a bottle of Evian mineral water. He closed the fridge slowly
before he took a swig from the bottle, turning round sharply to venture back to the
garden, trying his best to ignore her. Her drunken voice raged on.
‘You’re a pathetic excuse for a copper…look at you, you can’t even stand up
to your own wife…but…you love the villains…because then people higher up than
you give you credit for being a complete twat.’ He turned to face her angrily.
‘Look, don’t start having a go at me…you’re the one who drinks too much.’
The distant screaming distracted him from his wife.
‘Jesus Christ, it’s Tim…’ He sprinted towards his son, who seemed to be
having great difficulty in sitting up in the pool. When he reached him, he lifted his son
from the water and embraced him as though tomorrow would never arrive.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay…your Mum’s here too.’ He turned around just in time to
see the huge, razor-sharp blade of the bread knife glinting in the sunlight, raised high
above her head. She approached the scene quickly, with death in her eyes...
The sudden knock on the passenger window startled them both. Williams leaned
across his colleague, wiping away the condensation in front of his confused face; the
grimace of Alan Elliott stared into the car mockingly. Immediately, Williams sprung
from the car and rushed towards him.
‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at Elliott?’ he rasped breathlessly
before using his inhaler.
‘Well I could quite easily ask you the same question, but I won’t bother
because what would be the point? You’ll probably answer with another stupid
question…I happen to live here in case you’d forgotten.’ Elliott headed for his front
door closely followed by the DI. By now Davis was also out of the car and jogging up
the garden path.
Once inside the house Williams pulled out his notepad and pen.
‘Right then Elliott, where were you last night between seven and eight? And
don’t say at home watching a Clint Eastwood film or I’ll arrest you on the spot.’
Elliott faced him sharply.
‘On what charge?’
‘For telling bloody lies, now where the hell were you?’
‘Well if you must know I was drinking in the Newcastle Arms until closing
time, and I have plenty of witnesses to verify it. Why…which scumbag’s bit the bullet
this time?’
‘Oh, so you know there’s been another murder then?’ Williams sounded smug
this time.
‘Well it hardly comes as a surprise these days does it? So we have a vigilante
cleaning up the streets…big deal. Whoever it is deserves a medal the size of a dustbin
lid if you ask me.’
The DI jabbed his pen in Elliot’s direction.
‘A police officer was brutally slain two nights ago so if I was you, I’d show a
bit more respect.’
Elliott glared at him angrily.
‘What about my sister’s two sons, how about showing them some respect.
After all, they weren’t criminals were they?’
Williams put his notepad and pen back in his pocket. He was about to say
something else when his colleague beat him to it.
‘Look Mr Elliott, our resources are stretched beyond our means and…’
‘Who’s upstairs anyway Elliott? We know damn well you have a woman here
because we saw her draw the curtains earlier.’ Williams interrupted.
‘What’s that got to do with anything? That’s none of your business,’ Elliott
snapped back.
‘Just remember, we’ll be checking out your whereabouts last night, and if
you’re lying I’ll be back with a vengeance,’ Williams snarled before he headed
towards the front door. Bonzo, the black Labrador, growled as the Inspector tried to
stroke it.
‘Fuck you too you ugly mutt,’ he said under his breath.
‘You haven’t even told me who was killed last night anyway Williams,’ Elliott
shouted.
‘Try watching the news soldier boy,’ the DI grunted over his shoulder.
Once the car doors closed, Williams sat back and looked almost resigned.
‘You know something, I’m starting to get bored with this fucking case
already; we haven’t turned up so much as a scrap of evidence to link any of the
bastard suspects.’
44 -- WHO NEEDS THE SILLY OLD BOYS IN
BLUE?
Tricia Hackett sighed as she changed the TV channel again. There didn’t seem to be
anything worth watching whatsoever. She decided on the UK History channel and
went to the kitchen to make a hot drink. Brute the Rottweiler followed.
The time was 9:30pm and she’d still heard no word from her husband; he’d
been gone for over two weeks now, and every time she rang the hotel, the receptionist
always told her that he wasn’t available. She’d left dozens of messages – but to no
avail.
‘Why the hell doesn’t the bastard just…call?’ She seethed to herself. She was
actually beginning to miss him – something she never expected. What if he’s dead or
something? The thought was worrying, but also reassuring because everything would
be left to her. She smiled to herself at the realisation.
Her thoughts were suddenly distracted by a dull thump above her. She sighed
as she hoped her three kids would be asleep by now, maybe one of them had to pay a
visit to the toilet, she wondered.
She was beginning to feel hungry so she decided to make herself a sandwich
to accompany her cappuccino. She briefly wondered which one of her husband’s
cronies was going to get it next; she knew he had a lot of enemies, but whoever the
killer was must really hate him. She didn’t really know too much about his business
affairs, and she didn’t want to.
She asked the police to keep her house under surveillance until the killer was
caught but they told her that they couldn’t spare the officers. She sighed again and
patted the dog’s head.
‘Never mind boy, at least I’ve got you to protect me, who needs the silly old
boys in blue?’ She cut off a reasonable chunk of cheese and tossed it into the air,
which the dog caught in its huge powerful jaws before she finished making her cheese
and pickle sandwich.
She returned to the living room and placed her drink and sandwich on the
coffee table when the phone rang; she snatched it from its cradle. The sound of her
husband’s voice angered her.
‘Bloody…Frank, where the hell have you been? Everybody’s been trying to
contact you for a bloody fortnight and…’

He interrupted her.
‘Listen Trish, there’s been a bit of a setback so I could be away for a while
longer.’
‘What do you mean setback, didn’t the sale of the Casino go through or
something?’
There was a long pause.
‘The sale of the Casino went through just fine, but there’s an even bigger
problem I’ve got to contend with at the moment.’
‘Go on,’ she persisted.
I got arrested over a week ago.’ The statement caused her to screw her eyes
tightly shut and swear silently to herself.
‘My God Frank, what the hell have you done?’
‘Trish, it’s all a load of bollocks; I’m supposed to have assaulted a copper, but
I think I’ve been set up. I’m in the county clink right now and I don’t have a lot of
credit on this phone card. I tell you, the law in this country is pathetic, it’s not like
back home, the Yanks don’t have an ounce of respect for their allies…we fought
alongside the bastards in the fucking war. Respect…they just don’t have a clue what
it is…I’m not fucking kidding. They don’t have any idea who the fuck I am; they
don’t know that I’m a respected figure back on my own turf, people look up to me and
respect me because…’
‘Frank, just shut up and listen for a minute will you.’
He noticed the desperation in her voice.
‘There’s been a few killings lately; some nutter is going round killing all your
friends…I could be next man.’
‘What you on about? Who’s killing all my…I don’t have any friends.’
‘How the hell should I know…nobody seems to know, it’s been all over the
papers and the news. They reckon it’s a serial killer, but the thing they don’t mention
is that all the victims are connected to you. Frank, I’m really frightened, I can’t even
get police protection and the triplets were supposed to be looking after things, but I
haven’t seen hide nor hair of any of them since you went away.’
‘Who’s been killed exactly?’ Hackett asked evenly.
‘Wait a minute while I find the names; I wrote them down somewhere. I know
one of them was that horrible long-haired sleazy bastard that’s been round here a few
times…the one the dog hates…’
‘You mean Skinner’ His high-pitched voice was followed by laughter. When
he eventually stopped laughing, his voice became serious.
‘If you think I’m going to cry about that little weasel you can think again; he
was just a liability, and I think the best part of him ran down his Mother’s leg…he
was just a horrible little…’
She found the list of the four victims and read out the names.
‘Johnny Skinner, Davey Dawson, Sergeant Will Harrison and the night before
last, it was somebody called Chris Bradley.’ She waited while he took it all in.
‘Jesus fucked, what the hell’s been going on round there woman? I knew these
people.’
‘That’s why you have to get out of the mess you’re in and get back over here
as quick as you can because I’m scared shitless. Frank, who the hell hates you so
much?’
‘Listen, there’s plenty of people who’d like to see me dead and buried, just
take your pick.’
‘My God, is that all you’ve got to say about it. A few days ago, that fat copper
was round here asking questions about your enemies, and he opened my eyes I can
bloody tell you.’
‘What fat copper are you on about?’
‘Williams I think you call him; he’s got asthma…’
‘He’s got a cheek calling me worse than shite behind my back…after all the
times I’ve wiped his fucking arse for him, the fat overgrown piece of shit needs
deflating with a fucking crossbow, and guess what else...’ The phone went dead; she
stared at it frustrated before slamming it back onto its cradle. She turned and looked at
the sandwich she’d made, but her appetite had disappeared.
‘Look what mummy’s got for you,’ she said to the dog before handing it the
sandwich, which it wolfed down greedily. She crouched and embraced the dog. It
lapped at her face lovingly. She pulled away when it felt like she’d broken one of her
nails on the heavily-studded collar. She was busy inspecting her fingers when a low
growl omitted from the dog’s throat.
‘What’s wrong boy?’ She asked urgently. The Rottweiler trotted towards the
living room door seemingly mesmerised by an unseen and unheard presence; he
jumped up at the handle to dislodge the latch, and rushed into the hall to stare at the
front door. Trisha followed.
‘What is it son? Who’s out there?’
After a couple of minutes of listening intently, she turned and headed back to
the living room. There was a loud knock on the door, which made her gasp with fright
and spin round quickly. The Rottweiler launched itself towards the front door barking
furiously.
Without hesitation she ran upstairs to her bedroom and made straight for the
huge four-poster bed. She grabbed the Browning High-Power from underneath her
pillow. She studied the pistol for a moment with trembling hands and made sure that
the magazine was full and the safety catch was off before she stepped back onto the
landing.
‘What’s wrong mummy, is daddy back home yet?’ Simon, her eldest son
asked as he emerged from his bedroom still half-asleep. Luckily he didn’t catch sight
of the gun, which she quickly hid behind her back.
‘Nothing’s wrong sweetheart, now go back to your room and stay there do you
understand? Daddy will be home in a few hours,’ she lied. She descended the stairs.
Brute was still barking viciously, pounding the front door with his massive paws. She
grabbed him and with great difficulty locked him into the nearby utility room. The
slow knocking continued.
For a moment she couldn’t remember where she’d put the keys; then she
noticed them on the shelf to her left. She grabbed them with shaking hands and slowly
unlocked the door, but kept the chain in place. When it was only partially open, a
sudden force from the other side slammed into it harshly snapping the chain as though
it didn’t exist. The force knocked her backwards but she managed to keep her footing.
A tall figure dressed in baggy blue overalls stepped from the cold darkness pointing a
12-gauge Bignotti sawn-off shotgun directly at her chest. She raised her own gun with
trembling hands and pointed it at the intruder’s face, which was hidden behind a ski
mask. She slowly pulled back the slide to chamber a round before she began to laugh
tearfully.
‘I’ve got you now h…haven’t I you fucking bastard…now put the gun down
before I turn your head into m…mashed brains all over the…the floor…Now get back
and put the gun down, or I swear on my Mother in-law’s life, I’ll shoot with no
mercy.’ Her gun shook pathetically now as she inched closer, forcing the assailant
back into the garden.
‘I was on the phone to my husband before…the one whose friends you’ve
been killing, and...and he says you’re dead fucking meat when he gets back here you
cowardly bastard…and you’ve come here to kill me too, and I’m a woman you
coward.’
She began to feel more bravado as the shotgun was lowered as though in
defeat. Her hand stopped shaking and she purposely pressed the pistol to her
opponent’s forehead. She spoke through gritted teeth.
‘You don’t know who you’re messing with…do you know my Frank will have
you murdered when he gets back, just you wait and see you bastard.’ She wiped away
tears of fear from earlier and replaced them with ones of victory.
‘Just don’t think you’re going anywhere, Mr Cowardly bastard, because if you
try and move before I tell you, I’ll blow your fucking face off. Now put the gun down
now…and slowly, so I can count the veins in the whites of your eyes.’ Instead of
complying, the figure merely gripped the shotgun ever tighter, and began to speak.
‘So I finally get to meet Frank Hackett’s wife. Did you know you’re married
to a murderer? When he’s lying next to you in bed do you look at his back and think:
where have you been today, Frank? Who did you kill today, Frank? Do you know
how many innocent victims he’s claimed in this city alone?’ The voice was purposely
muffled and almost impossible to distinguish.
The sawn-off shotgun pushed her back into the house, even though the enemy
was staring down the barrel of a deadly automatic pistol – there was no fear.
Her adversary carried on with the hurtful questions and comments.
‘Your precious husband is responsible for most of the unsolved deaths in the
north of England…don’t you know that you ignorant bitch? Don’t you know that he’s
in the States at the moment…fucking some other woman? He’s not buying a casino
like he tells you. He’s playing away. He’s letting his sperm travel to some other poor
bitch’s womb…can’t you see that?’ Trisha Hackett was furious at this outrage, even
though she knew in her heart that it could be true – she knew her husband only too
well.
‘I’m going to tell you one more time to drop that shotgun…if you don’t…I
will blow your fucking brains out, here and now. You don’t know my Frank like I do
you bastard.’
‘I know I don’t, but your husband is the coldest, meanest, most selfish cunt
who ever dared to grace this shitty planet, so don’t stand there and say he has
morals. He has nothing between his ears…or his legs.’
‘Don’t you dare talk about him like that…especially just because he’s not even
in the fucking country. You’re a fucking cowardly bastard, and you don’t even
deserve to live…you’re such a coward that you daren’t even show your face.’ Her
bravado meant that she didn’t notice that the shotgun was now pressed into her
abdomen as she continued her ranting.
‘Mrs trigger-happy defender of the faith…you false and foolish woman.’
Trisha couldn’t bare to listen to anymore, she tried to squeeze the trigger, but to her
horror the gun jammed. Her expression turned to desperation as she tried to fire again,
but still nothing.
‘Goodbye Mrs Hackett.’ Both barrels of the shotgun discharged a lethal blast,
blowing a massive hole in her midriff. Her spinal cord was completely severed and
her obliterated insides splashed messily six feet behind her from the terrible exit
wound. She fell backwards onto her bloody, destroyed innards.
The killer carefully placed an envelope on the shelf before quickly fleeing the
carnage, leaving the Rottweiler to continue barking frantically in the utility room.
45 -- IF ONE OR TWO BONES HAVE TO BE
BROKEN, SO BE IT
THE STATION:
It had been twelve hours since the last murder, and it had stunned underworld figures
and police alike.
Superintendent Jack Thornton was busy sifting through a mountain of
paperwork on the desk in front of him. He took off his reading glasses and rubbed his
eyes vigorously before he got to his feet. There were over two-dozen uniformed
officers as well as twenty murder squad detectives of different ranks in the spacious
incident room. Skulking in the far corner were the Hackett triplets, as usual donned in
identical Armani suits. Four uniformed officers were even busy playing a card game.
Thornton studied the board on the wall, upon which were detailed photographs
of the five murder victims and the three notes left by the killer. He momentarily
removed his cap to scratch his head, wondering why there were only three notes and
yet five victims. He abruptly turned to face the occupants of the room.
‘Put those cards away, this isn’t a bloody youth club you know,’ he barked.
‘Now listen carefully everybody, I don’t think for a moment that I have to tell
you how serious this is. There’s been five murders in under a fortnight and they’re all
connected, which means we have a serial killer on our hands. We have no clues, no
witnesses…nothing. I’ve got the area commander on my back, not to mention the
press and this sort of crap is not good for business…none of it.’ He read aloud all
three notes in turn:
‘Another scumbag wiped from the face of the planet, and another job well
done don’t you think you incompetent bastards? Yours truly, The Avenging Angel.’
As you know, that was left by the body of Davey Dawson.’ He read the next
one.
‘Another worthless piece of shit bites the dust. Ha Ha Ha, you useless coppers.
Yours truly, The Avenging Angel. That was DS Will Harrison’s love letter.’ He read
the final one.
‘If only Frank was here now to join his dead slut of a wife. My work is far
from over yet you idiots. Yours truly, The Avenging Angel.’ He turned from the
board again, steely-eyed.
‘Now, so help me…that was Frank’s wife. What the hell do you think he’s
going to do when he gets back from the States? He’ll probably kill the lot of us for
being the complete fools that we are.’

‘Why did the murderer only leave three notes behind when he’s killed five
people?’ A young Constable asked.
‘Well obviously he couldn’t leave one for the arsehole who’s head got blown
off in the street because the wind would’ve blown it away,’ Williams answered
smugly.
‘For your information the killer could quite easily have slipped the note in the
victim’s waistband or pocket or something,’ another constable retorted.
‘What about Skinner? The killer had ample time to leave a note in the
warehouse, and he was the first victim smartarse,’ another Constable interjected. This
time Thornton spoke harsher when he interrupted.
‘Shut it the lot of you. Right now it’s not important why there’s only three
notes. What is important is finding Tony Johnson before the mad bastard strikes
again…and get this, he will strike again.’
Davis raised his hand.
‘Sir, how can we be sure Johnson’s definitely involved? After all, he hasn’t
been seen since December.’
Williams pulled out his inhaler and spoke mockingly to the DS.
‘Use your bloody head man, he has to have the biggest motive of all the
suspects we’ve wasted so much time on questioning for almost two weeks, because
we were told to waste valuable man hours…and as for him not being seen since
December…nor has the bloody killer…’
Carlton turned sharply in his seat, he spat his words at him with force.
‘If you’re referring to me Williams, let me refresh your memory. I was told to
run things my way until the Super got back, and if I see fit to have half the scumbags
in this city questioned; then by Christ I’ll do it.’

‘There are ways and means to go about things, but you just took the piss…I
mean authorising a warrant to search Donohue’s shitholes for little Miss Detective
Sergeant Davis here, when we could’ve been trying to find the whereabouts of that
arsehole Johnson…’
The sudden loud rapping of an empty mug on the desk in front of Thornton
brought the argument to an abrupt halt. However, he continued to bang the mug until
the handle broke off and the rest of it rolled from the table to smash in half on the
floor. The occupants looked on as the Superintendent continued to swing his hand as
though he still held the makeshift gavel; the handle of which, was still wedged
between his fingers. He tossed it to one side and angrily jabbed his finger in the
direction of the argument.
‘For the love of Moses, just bloody grow up the pair of you, or I swear I’ll
have you both back in uniform before you take your next breath. As for you Williams,
for once in your life, you’re probably right. You have been wasting precious time
questioning the wrong low lives of Newcastle. Johnson’s our man and there’s
absolutely no question about it.’ He looked coldly into Carlton’s eyes when he
finished speaking. Carlton jumped to his feet.
‘I think that’s bang out of order…Sir. At the end of the day, you’re the one
who disappears without trace for a Christmas getaway and you said that…’
‘Sit down Carlton you bloody fool, you’ve wasted enough time as it is.’
Carlton stood like a statue, gawping at the Superintendent. He began to continue his
ranting until Thornton barked the order louder.
‘I said sit down…now dammit.’ The Chief Inspector fell into his chair shaking
his head resignedly. Williams almost burst into laughter at the sound of his superior
being shot down in flames for once. He feigned a sneeze to hide his smugness before
toying with his inhaler. Thornton turned back to the board and read the notes again.
When he’d finished, he was weary and exhausted.
‘Now as we’re all aware, Frank Hackett keeps things in order for us; he cleans
up the crumbs of the bad biscuits of our patch so to speak, so I think we owe it to him
to show the utmost respect and get this lunatic off the streets. As you all know Frank
is a well respected figure in our community; he pays us all well so if there’s any
complaints about that, raise your hand now.’ Davis got to his feet and quickly left the
room, hand clamped over his mouth. Thornton merely glanced after him, perplexed
for a moment before he continued.
‘Frank’s wife has been murdered…his bloody wife. Now we’ve been in this
room for hours, and I know it’s been frustrating for all of us, but not one of you in
here has come up with a damn thing…zero. The lot of you just get out there and find
Johnson before the maniac goes too far.’
‘I think killing his wife is going a bit too far…well at least he left his kids
alive…and his stinking dog.’ Carlton’s words didn’t faze the Superintendent at all.
‘Now get this…all of you, Tony Johnson is priority so get out there and find
him, and when you do, bring him to me…alive. If one or two bones have to be
broken, so be it, but I want him alive because if it gets out that a psycho copper…one
of ours is responsible for this mayhem, we’ll definitely have a riot on our hands. The
bloody press will have a field day, so I want this kept under wraps is that
understood?’
‘No it’s not understood one little bit Thornton.’ The voice came from Darren
Hackett.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Thornton had trouble hiding the nervousness
in his voice. The triplets stood as one. Derek spoke next.

‘What we mean is there’s no way that we’re going to give that fucking piece
of shit leg-room in the back of a transit if we get to him first.’
Then it was Donald’s turn to rant.
‘Look Thornton, Frank, our older brother left us in charge of things so don’t
you think we have the biggest fucking say in the matter. If Johnson is responsible for
this, I’ll rip both his arms off and batter you to death with them.’
Thornton had heard such feeble threats before from these three psychopaths
(and he knew they were dangerous), but this time their tone was considerably more
sinister than previous encounters he’d had to endure. He thought he understood why
too, because if his own wife (who was sixteen-years his junior) was to die such a
horrible death, he would spend as much money as he could to hire the best hit men he
could think of, but he needed to be sure. He hoped he was sure that Johnson was the
killer; his instinct told him he was right.
‘You can please yourselves what you do as long as you get him off the bloody
streets because this has gone far enough…now get out there the lot of you, and find
the bastard.’
When Thornton guessed nobody was left within earshot, he picked up the
phone in front of him. He dialled the annoyingly long number of the Caesars Palace
Hotel and waited, drumming his fingers on the desk impatiently. He got the same
reply to the same question as he’d expected, but this time the secretary was a male.
He hung up.
He left the room and decided to freshen up in the toilet half-way down the
hall. He harshly pushed open the door and made straight for the sink to splash his face
with cold water. He was sweating profusely despite the cold draught from the small
open window.
On his way to the door, a flushing toilet startled him, but also aroused his
curiosity. He turned and waited to see who would emerge from the cubicle – he had a
good idea who it would be. He leaned back against the wall, arms folded across his
broad chest. He sighed and waited patiently until the cubicle door finally opened. An
ill-looking Colin Davis made his way towards the sink unaware of the
superintendent’s presence. He also splashed his face with cold water and abruptly
spun round when Thornton cleared his throat.
‘You don’t look too good,’ Thornton mused.
‘I don’t feel too good, and I would like a word if you don’t mind Sir,’ Davis
replied, wiping his mouth.
‘My office in five-minutes.’ Thornton was gone.
Davis was apprehensive as he headed for the superintendent’s office, but he
had to get some things off his chest. He knocked and entered. Thornton was sat
smugly behind his desk, his arms folded in front of him.
‘What’s on your mind, Col?’ he asked.
‘Sir, there’s quite a lot on my mind at the minute, but one thing in particular.’
‘Go on,’ Thornton prompted. The sergeant sighed and glanced round the
office before he replied.
‘Well I’ll come straight to the point…I want out.’
‘Do you mind telling me why?’
‘Because it seems to me that the whole lot of you are corrupt and I don’t want
any part of it that’s why. I thought my job in Durham was bad, but by Christ…up
here…this division…it’s just a bloody joke.’
The superintendent’s face flushed with anger; he leaned forward in his chair.
‘Davis, those are very serious allegations. Do you realise what you’re saying
man?’
Davis was unperturbed as he went on.
‘Oh come of it, you just admitted in the incident room that you’re all taking
backhanders from gangsters, well I don’t want any part of it. The whole thing is a
complete mockery.’
This time Thornton raised his voice a few decibels.
‘I don’t care what went on in Durham, but up here we do things my way is that
understood? My way is the best way because my way achieves results.’
Davis was astonished.
‘Achieves results. You’ve achieved absolutely nothing whatsoever. You’ve
closed the case on the Elliot kids and their mother, and you’re all running around
like…headless chickens looking for a dying Inspector who probably isn’t even
involved in these recent murders…he might even be dead as far as we know.
Williams filled me in on your plans a few minutes ago in the toilet, and while we’re
on the subject, how come nobody ever listens to my theories?’
‘That’s because you never have anything worthwhile to say,’ the
superintendent snapped.
‘Listen to me, Thornton, there’s more than one psychopath out on the streets
and you know it.’ It was the first time that Davis had addressed the superintendent on
a last name basis.
‘You know as well as I do Davis, that all the other suspects have alibis. We
can’t even find Johnson, nobody’s seen him since before Christmas so how the hell do
you know whether he’s innocent or not? You come up with a suspect we’ve
overlooked and maybe I’ll start listening, but until then just do as you’re told man.’
Davis paced the room shaking his head. He suddenly faced the superintendent,
making him flinch.
‘Bobby Smith…haven’t you even considered the fact that it could be a
possibility? I was just a young beat copper at the time of his arrest, and I tell you it
chilled me to the bone, and I’ll never forget it. It was all over the papers, it was on the
news every teatime…’
‘I know exactly what case you’re talking about Davis because I’ve been
around longer than you, and if you ask me, it’s just a fantasy spinning around in your
head. The best thing you can do is forget about him and get on with your job. Do you
honestly believe that somebody as far gone as Smith is capable of murder of this
calibre? Use your bloody head man, how the hell is he going to blend in with society
unnoticed with a face like his?’
‘Maybe he’s wearing a mask to hide his face…I don’t know, but come on
Thornton, don’t you think it’s worth looking into? The mad bastard always said he
wanted all Hackett’s family and friends dead – with a shotgun too; he kept on
mentioning certain horror films when victims’ heads get blown off…’
‘Yes I know exactly what he said Davis, like I said, you’re living in a bloody
dream world man…let me know when you decide to wake up; then maybe we can get
on with the real important matters involving this case.’
Thornton leaned back in his seat again looking as smug as ever. The DS was
shocked beyond belief; he just couldn’t get through to this obnoxious man, who was
supposed to be his superior. Just how many more crooked so-called upholders of the
law are there? he briefly wondered. Thornton’s booming voice startled him.
‘Davis, are you a bloody fool or what? You’re head is sometimes so far up
your own arse, I’m not at all surprised that you come out with this kind of shit,’
‘You’re just not listening are you?’ Davis leaned forward, placing his hands
on the desk, waiting for a response. He gave up after five seconds, his voice was
shaky, but the determination in his words was evident.
‘If you let me investigate this case in my own way…the Bobby Smith
theory…then I’ll achieve a result for you…you can bet your life on that.’ He backed
off and paced the office again for a while before turning round and speaking evenly.
‘Either you let me track down this Smith character (this is his style believe
me) or I spill my guts to the press the…IPCC, the…CPS and anybody else without
blinkers, who’s prepared to listen. That’s your choice…Sir…I swear I will blow this
whole fiasco wide open…so it’s up to you.’
Thornton got to his feet slowly and also began to pace his office, without
speaking for almost ten-seconds, which angered the DS.
‘Listen Thornton, I’m not bullshitting you…what’s your answer?’
The superintendent stopped before he reached the window, turning slowly to
face Davis across the room. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead returned to his
chair sniggering.
‘So this is what it’s come to now Davis...Blackmail?’ His voice sounded
nervous, and his trembling hands were difficult to hide from Davis’s amusement, who
couldn’t believe that he was actually bargaining with his superintendent.
‘Get out of my sight before I have you forcibly removed from the premises.’
The DS stood motionless glaring at his superior as he took time to let the words sink
in. It was a long while before he spoke.
‘So that’s it then, I reveal all the sordid secrets of this department to whoever I
want? Then so be it.’ He turned and headed for the door, hoping for a response. He
got one.
‘What are you going to do now then Davis…become a security
guard…work in a bloody plastics factory earning a pittance?’
Davis didn’t bother to turn when he answered, he merely gripped the door
handle ever tighter.
‘I’ll tell you something superintendent Jack Thornton, whatever I do is none of
your concern or anybody else’s, but at least whatever it is…it’ll be honest, I can
promise you that.’ He suddenly decided to face Thornton before he left.
‘There’s one thing I know for sure, Smith is going to kill Hackett and let me
just tell you something else Thornton, if one single hair on my son’s head is so much
as breathed upon…’ He slammed the door. Thornton waited until his footsteps had
faded on the staircase before he reached for the phone.
‘Carlton, get back over here as quick as you can, and bring the fat man with
you…’
‘What do you mean Sir? We’ve just set off to look for the invisible detective
at your request.’
‘All right Bob, enough wise cracks, just get yourself over here because
something’s come up big style.’

46 -- RALF SCHUMACHER TIME
Donohue had to leave Brenda’s house early on Sunday morning much to Dawn’s
annoyance. After her constant persistence to accompany him to his destination, he
eventually agreed.
He was grateful the retirement home had took the trouble to call his mobile,
but the call came late yesterday morning and his phone had been turned off for hours,
so he rang the number on his missed calls list. He also had a deep-seated foreboding,
which frightened him – the nurse said something about a possible stroke.
He hurried outside and jumped into the BMW and started the car. He put his
foot down harshly as soon as his girlfriend climbed into the passenger seat.
‘Get your seatbelt on because now it’s Ralf Schumacher time.’ There was no
humour in his voice as the car surged forward while Dawn was still busy trying to
fasten herself securely into the passenger seat.
When they reached the Royal Victoria Infirmary, he screeched to a halt and
they rushed towards the entrance, not bothering to lock the car doors. Donohue was
frantic when he approached the reception area.
‘Mary Donohue, I’m her son,’ he repeated for the third time impatiently.
‘If you just take a seat somebody will be with you shortly,’ the receptionist
said.
‘I should be at the neurology department now,’ Donohue said as he hurried
away from the reception desk. Dawn grabbed his arm and dragged him towards a
seated area.
‘Tommy, just try and stay calm will you, or you’ll end up in the same bloody
ward,’ she said under her breath while the receptionist looked on in sympathy.
It wasn’t long before a doctor came towards them and introduced himself.
‘Good morning Sir, I’m Doctor Ashbrooke…’ Donohue immediately got to his feet.
‘How’s my Mum, is she going to be all right?’ he asked hysterically. There
was a pause before the grey-haired man in his fifties replied.
‘It appears that Miss Donohue has suffered a Transient Ischemic Attack some
time yesterday morning, which in itself isn’t life threatening, but we ran some tests
and…well she’s undergoing surgery at the moment…’
‘What do you mean she’s in surgery? I thought you said it wasn’t life
threatening,’ Donohue croaked.
‘Her carotid artery has a blockage of plaque which affects the oxygen-rich
blood flow to her brain and consequently we have to perform a carotid
endarterectomy,’ the doctor said. Donohue wasn’t impressed.

‘Look, can you give it to me in plain English please because it’s early in case
you haven’t guessed, and I didn’t happen to bring a medical encyclopaedia with me.’
‘Well, Mr Donohue, the procedure is complicated and one which is not
without risk. Her artery needs to be opened up so that the plaque can be stripped
away.’ The colour drained from Donohue’s face as he sat back down, burying his
head in his hands.
‘Is she going to be okay?’ Dawn asked.
The Doctor paused for even longer this time.
‘Well as I said, this kind of surgery does pose a few risk factors and given her
age and condition…’
‘When can I see her? When does she come out of theatre?’
‘Well it should be a few hours yet Sir, but I’ll keep you informed of any
developments. Just try to stay calm because these type of operations can have a high
success rate.’ After a few more minutes of his medical jargon, he was gone. Dawn slid
her hand in his.
‘Just relax, Tommy, you heard what he said, there’s a high success rate.’ She
didn’t sound too convincing.
‘Yeah, and he also said it’s a risky operation, or did you miss that bit? Christ, I
hate hospitals…I have a phobia about the bloody places.’
She rose to her feet wishing that she could do something, but she felt utterly
helpless.
‘I’ll go and get us some coffee,’ she said quietly before she went in search of a
vending machine, leaving him to stair at the polished floor, hating himself for
switching his phone off. Once again, guilt began to set in fast.
When his girlfriend returned with two Styrofoam cups of coffee, she noticed
the tears in his eyes.
‘I’ve messed up again haven’t I? You know, I just can’t seem to do anything
right these days…’
‘You can’t blame yourself for this, Tom, this is hardly your fault is it?’
He turned to face her and there was bitterness in his voice.
‘If I had my phone turned on yesterday I could’ve got here sooner, but instead
I spent most of the day in bed with you.’
‘Even if you got here earlier, what could you have done? I mean you’re not a
surgeon, so what the hell could you have done to prevent it?’
He picked up a magazine from the nearby table and flicked through the pages,
but none of the articles or images registered so he tossed it back down again. He stood
and began to pace the waiting area.
‘I just should’ve been here Dawn it’s as simple as that. How come nobody at
that damn home noticed anything? Surely there must have been some signs, some…
symptoms.’
‘Tom, she’s had a mild stroke and as far as I’m aware there are no warnings,
just try to be positive because I’m sure she’s a fighter.’ Her voice contained false
hope.
After another two-and-a-half hours waiting, he fell into a light and restless
slumber, but every time footsteps sounded on the shiny floor, or when distant voices
could be heard, he sat bolt upright and alert. After another few hours of this, he
noticed that his girlfriend had gone. Maybe she went for more coffee, he thought. A
few minutes later she appeared with the beverages and two sandwiches.
‘What the hell is taking them so long? She’s been in there for hours,’ he said
as he took one of the sandwiches and placed it on the table in front of him. He stared
at it with disgust shaking his head before he abruptly got to his feet.
‘I wish you’d settle down Tom, you’re only making yourself more on edge;
I’m sure she’s in good hands,’ she sighed, unwrapping her ham salad sandwich.
‘That’s easy for you to say…it’s not your Mother getting cut to pieces in
there,’ he snapped, but immediately regretted his words. He forgot that Dawn’s
Mother died of cancer three years ago. He was about to apologise when the sound of
footsteps prompted them both to turn round. Doctor Ashbrooke was approaching them
with a sympathetic look on his face. Donohue spoke first.
‘Is she all right?’ The Doctor glanced at the floor and sighed.
‘I’m very sorry, Mr Donohue, but we did all we could…there were
complications and…’
Donohue fainted.
47 -- HOPEFULLY HE CAUGHT A BULLET OR
TWO
ROWLANDS GILL, TYNE & WEAR:
‘I’m not sure about this, Bob, why don’t we just call it off? I mean we haven’t
killed before, and killing a copper…one of us,’ Inspector Williams was hysterical.
Chief Inspector Carlton faced his colleague angrily.
‘He’s not one of us so get that into your head. If he spills his guts to the right
people, we could all be in the shit, and we’re just following Thornton’s orders. If we
don’t go through with this, he could have the two of us snuffed.’
Williams slowed the car until he finally pulled up in a residential area. He

used his inhaler; sweat ran down his face in rivers.
‘Jesus Bob, this…this is just fucking bizarre…we’ll never get away with it…’
‘Don’t go having a fucking heart attack on me now man, we’ve got to follow
this through and that’s the end of it. Now remember, just keep the engine running, I’ll
try and be as quick as I can.’ Carlton checked the 7.65mm Beholla pocket pistol,
which Thornton had handed him earlier, making sure that the magazine was full. It
was the sixth time he’d released the clip and forcefully slammed it back into the
handle with the heel of his hand, much to the annoyance of Williams.
‘Bob, you’re going to damage that gun if you’re not careful, I’ve read a lot
about firearms and you should be sliding the clip in gently; you do it like you’re in a
film or something. Look, let’s just call this off before it’s too late.’
‘Just shut it and remember, keep the engine running.’ Carlton pulled a
stocking over his head; then donned a black woollen hat. He wore jeans, trainers and
an anorak with the hood pulled up, not just against the biting wind and sleet – he also
needed to be as disguised as he could be for a job like this.
Colin Davis was sitting on the couch with his nine-year-old son Timothy.
They were watching Back to the Future. His son was laughing, and Davis also
laughed, but it was forced laughter, for he’d seen the film a number of times and he
had more important things on his mind than repeats. He had to pretend for his son’s
sake. He got to his feet and decided to gather his thoughts for a few moments in the
kitchen; on the way, there was a knock at the front door. He crept down the hall and
before he could open the door, he realised that he’d already locked up for the night.
‘Who is it?’ he shouted.
‘It’s the police, open up,’ a distant voice shouted back.

‘What do you want?’ Davis asked.
‘We need to ask you some routine questions, now can you please open up?’
The voice persisted.
‘I’m a police officer, now tell me what you want.’ Davis felt uneasy and there
was no way that he was going to open the door. He quickly returned to the living
room to peer through the bay window, and his suspicions were confirmed – it wasn’t
the police at all.
‘Jesus…’ he said under his breath as he caught sight of the pistol.
‘Who is it Dad?’ His son asked.
‘Get upstairs Timothy…now.’ The boy rushed upstairs while Davis reached
for his mobile. The banging on the door continued as Davis rang Thornton’s office –
no answer.
‘Shit, where the hell are you?’ He whispered harshly into his phone, just
before four bullets pierced the front door causing him to crouch instinctively. He
waited a few moments until he heard the screeching of tyres. He went to inspect the
damage.
‘What happened?’ Williams asked as Carlton took off his disguise and shakily
sent a text message to Thornton.
‘The bastard wouldn’t open the door…shit, Thornton won’t be too happy
about this,’ he seethed. One-minute later, Carlton’s mobile suddenly rang; it was
Thornton.
‘What do you mean he didn’t open the door, do you mean he’s still alive? And
what the hell are you doing sending me text messages you fool?’ He shouted down
the phone.
‘I fired a few shots through the door, hopefully he caught a bullet or two.’
‘Carlton you incompetent fool, you’ve probably made things ten times
worse…’
‘It’s not my fault the prick wouldn’t answer the door, why the hell don’t you
have the psycho Hackett triplets do your dirty work?’
‘It’s too late for that because he’ll be on his guard all the time now you
imbecile.’
‘Look, Sir, if you want the bastard silenced, why don’t you do it yourself, and
anyway I don’t know what you’re worrying about because he more than likely thinks
it was the killer that’s been stalking around lately,’ Carlton shouted, sounding as
annoyed as the Superintendent.
‘Use your head, Carlton you foolish idiot, how long do you think it’ll be
before he puts two and two together and comes up with the answer? I should’ve
known better than to send you pair of clowns on a job like that.’ He hung up.
‘Miserable bastard,’ Carlton muttered as he put his phone away.

48 -- MURDERS LEFT RIGHT AND CENTRE
SOUTHWICK, SUNDERLAND, TYNE & WEAR:
It was the beginning of the seventh week in the house and Bryan Donohue and Tina
Scott were running dangerously low on money and supplies. The kitchen cupboards
were almost empty and the fridge was bare. Not that Tina had been eating properly
anyway; she was deathly white and painfully thin, and the crushed Triazolam tablets
which Donohue had been feeding her had finally taken their toll – she was now
addicted, but there were none left. He stared at her sleeping form on the couch.
‘You’re a fucking mess woman, a complete fucking mess,’ he snarled, shaking
his head. They desperately needed to do something, but he didn’t have a clue what.
He stared at his Springfield Micro compact 1911, which was on the floor in front of
the armchair. He picked it up and thought about ending both of their miserable lives.
He studied the gun for a moment before pointing it at his girlfriend. He closed his
eyes tightly as his hand began to shake. Eventually he lowered the pistol.
‘No way am I going to make it so easy for the bastards. I’m going to pull the
biggest and best job yet and go out in a blaze of glory if I have to,’ he said harshly. He
now also had a Browning Capitan High power so he knew his supply of ammo was
more than he needed.
He was twenty-five, and he’d lost a stone in weight, which seemed to
accentuate his tall frame. He’d already spent almost half of the stolen money on
takeaways. He had to give another name each time he ordered and disguise himself
every time he answered the door. He was becoming increasingly claustrophobic and
lonely; he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out in this dingy council
house. The thought that disturbed him the most was that he would have to carry out
the next robbery alone. He’d even had a call on his mobile that his two accomplices
from last year: Steve Dodds and Shawn Robbins had been tracked down. He wasn’t
surprised though, because he knew them only too well; they weren’t clever or elusive
enough to evade the police for very long.
He desperately needed a drink, but there wasn’t any alcohol in the house
whatsoever. In fact, there wasn’t even milk, tea, coffee or soft drinks and he couldn’t
venture out to any shops for fear of being recognised. He felt hopelessly trapped, and
briefly wondered if prison would be preferable to his present desperate predicament.
The TV was on in the background but he wasn’t really paying any attention to
it. Instead he pondered whether to ring his brother because he hadn’t heard from him
for weeks and maybe he might be able to help him. Although it was doubtful, but it
was worth a try. He quickly punched in the numbers of his brother’s mobile number
and waited. It seemed to ring forever until Tommy Donohue finally answered, and he
sounded less than pleased.
‘What the hell are you ringing me for?’
‘Come on Tom, that’s no way to speak to your brother.’
‘I thought you and your lunatic friends might be locked up by now. Where the
hell are you?’
‘Well if you must know, me and Tina are still holed up in this poxy house in
Sunderland. we’re desperate, and to tell you the truth I don’t know how much more I
can take. I wondered whether you can meet me somewhere with a few supplies…
food, drink and cigarettes…that sort of stuff.’ His older brother let out a long sigh.
‘You know, Bryan, you’ve got a fucking nerve asking me for a favour like
that. You mean you want me to go shopping and calmly drop it off at wherever it is
you’re staying…are you fucking mad or what? You do know that I’ll be in the shit
too? Why the hell can’t you go to the shop yourself, it’s what you’re good at isn’t it?’
Tommy’s sarcasm annoyed his brother.
‘Use your fucking head man, I can’t go anywhere at the moment you know
that. Fucking hell, if I went to a supermarket I’d stand out like a swastika at a Jewish
fucking wedding.’
‘Listen you fucking moron, a few weeks ago I had that fat cunt Williams on
my back telling me that you and one of your low life mates had blown away two
coppers…and you’re asking me for help. You’ve got some balls I’ll give you that.
What the hell are you still doing with that dirty bitch anyway? You know she’s got a
serious drug problem…’
‘Too right she’s got a serious drug problem…she’s got no crack or pills left.’
‘Look, Bryan, I’ve enough problems of my own at the moment without you
adding to them. You’re on your own this time and that’s it.’ Tommy was about to
hang up when his brother stopped him with some harsh words of his own.
‘You’ve got problems…don’t give me that shit, what problems have you got?
I’m the one who’s existing each day wondering what’s around the next fucking
corner, so don’t talk a load of shite.’
‘For God’s sake Bryan, I don’t know whether you’ve got the common sense to
watch the news, but a lot of bad shit has been happening round here lately. Cath’s
kids got blown away just before Christmas so she killed herself. There’s murders left
right and centre…oh and another thing that might interest you…our mother died on
the operating table after a stroke a week ago, so don’t play the fucking martyr with
me.’ There was a long silence broken by the younger brother.
‘Well I like the way you broke your fucking back to let me know about it.
Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? We might have a different dad but she was my
Mother too you know.’
‘Come off it, you don’t have a sensitive bone in your whole body, you’ve only
ever cared about yourself. Who’s the one who’s been visiting our Mother while she
was in that fucking place for the last God knows how long? Me that’s who. Where the
hell were you all that time? You know, Cath used to call me a selfish bastard but
fucking Christ, it’s a good job she didn’t know you. Now look Bryan, I’ve been to
two funerals already this year and it’s only fucking January, so when your time comes
(and it’ll probably be soon the way you’re going) just don’t expect me to show up.’
‘Oh don’t worry about me, the next job I do will set me up for life and nobody
will see me for dust. I’ll be out of the country so fast, even the bastard customs won’t
see me slipping through.’
‘Goodbye Bryan,’ his brother said evenly before the phone went dead. By this
time Tina Scott was sitting up on the couch shaking and mumbling incoherently. He
turned to face her with a scowl, which creased his whole face.
‘Just look at the state of you…you look like shit and you smell even worse,’
he hissed before he turned and plugged his mobile into the wall to re-charge it. He
stomped around the living room hissing obscenities to nobody in particular. After a
few minutes of this, he fell onto his knees in front of his girlfriend, sobbing like a
frightened infant.
‘My mum’s gone babe…she…she’s gone.’
She cradled his head in her lap and stroked his short red hair soothingly.
49 -- A HEADCASE WITH A DEATHWISH
NEWCASTLE CITY CENTRE, TYNE & WEAR:
The triplets were heading towards “Frank’s Cuisine” for a meeting with two of their
cousins, and their top hit man employed by Frank Hackett. Although everybody had
drawn a blank concerning the murders, they had to be seen to be doing something…
anything to get some reasonable answers. Hackett had left them in charge just in case
any trouble should occur, but he now knew about the events that had unfolded in the
last few weeks, and there was no telling what he would do when he returned to
England. When he finds out his wife is dead and his children are in temporary care,
the triplets and police force alike will have hell to pay. They had to try and put a stop
to this before it gets any worse – if it could get any worse.

When they reached their destination, Donald parked the Mercedes in the car
park at the back of the restaurant, not noticing the black Fiat Punto, which had
followed.
‘What time is it?’ Derek asked in mid yawn.
‘Try using your watch man,’ Darren answered irritably. They sat in silence for
another five-minutes before stepping from the car into the bitter night and entering the
restaurant, which fitted snugly between two takeaway premises. It was a fairly small
Mediterranean place with a cosy atmosphere.
They each greeted the staff, before they were ushered to their table where the
other three men sat. They also nodded in acknowledgement to three more of Hackett’s
colleagues seated at a nearby table. It was 7:10pm and the meal was booked for
7:30pm.
They stood and hugged each other as though they were long lost relatives.
Their two cousins, Paul Watson and Samuel Matlock weren’t as big as the triplets.
Watson was thirty-six and just over five-feet tall. He had a stocky build, short
blonde hair and wild-staring green eyes. He’d reportedly killed three times over the
years, but he only had a criminal record for a minor offence. His parents had
disowned him a few years before because of his unpredictable violent outbursts. It
was the final straw when he’d put his Father in intensive care with a golf club over a
meaningless argument about something that nobody could remember. People who
knew him tried their utmost not to say the wrong thing; he wasn’t the type of man to
have a joke with.
Matlock was thirty-eight, also stockily built, but he was taller than Watson at
almost six-feet tall. He had a shaven head and a goatee beard, which gave him an
intimidating appearance. He also had green eyes, but with a vacant look in them as
though he’d spent the last six months on heroin. His laid-back manner fooled most
people, but he could be as violent as any of Hackett’s clan. He’d hospitalised a
number of people in the past and his criminal record was also for minor offences such
as handling stolen goods. He lived with his wife in a plush apartment on Newcastle’s
Quayside.
The third person at the table was Jimmy “Vicious” Vincent, a thirty-nine-
year-old man of medium build who had twenty-one murders to his credit. His dark
hair was combed forward just above his eyebrows, and his small brown eyes seemed
to bore into anybody who was unfortunate enough to hold a conversation with him.
He’d worked for Hackett for over five years as an assassin, but his services were
usually only required in extreme circumstances.
Their table was just to the left of the entrance. All six ordered drinks when a
waiter ventured towards them and handed them each a menu.
‘Right lads, let’s get down to business,’ Darren said after they decided on their
order.
‘As you know, some arsehole is roaming the streets bumping off our
associates; a headcase with a deathwish no less.’
‘Don’t forget that Frank’s wife has even bit the dust,’ Watson interrupted.
‘That’s enough Paul, there’s no need for disrespect at a time like this. We’re
all fully aware of the unfortunate murder of Trish and there’s no telling what Frank
will do when he eventually arrives back on English soil,’ Derek intervened; then it
was Donald’s turn to speak.
‘Now, that prick Thornton seems to be convinced that Tony Johnson is behind
this spate of killings, yet he doesn’t seem to be doing a hell of a lot about it apart from
sending those incompetent idiots around making door-to-door enquiries.’

‘What do you suggest we do about it then?’ Matlock asked, taking a sip from
his drink. Darren spoke again.
‘Well I think we should make some enquiries of our own, starting with
everybody who has a gripe with Frank.’
‘Well if you ask me you’re looking at a massive list. We might as well
question half the population of the city.’ Vincent muttered. Darren ignored the
comment and continued.
‘We have our own methods of interrogation and it doesn’t entail simple
questions about the whereabouts of these arseholes. When I want answers, I get them.
This prick Johnson needs to be found, and he needs to be found fast…that’s your job.’
He nodded to Vincent, who grinned and mumbled again.
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘If you ask me, I think Mickey Bennett could be a prime candidate for all
this mess. I mean him and Frank have been at loggerheads for years,’ Watson said,
lighting a Silk Cut before Vincent made another input.
‘I agree, I say we go over to Byker and kill him and all of his friends and
relatives…that should put a lid on the situation.’
Derek glanced in his direction.
‘Look Jimmy, we need answers first before we start wiping anybody out. The
last thing we want is a bloody gang war without Frank’s go ahead.
‘That’s all very well and good, but nobody can get in touch with him can they?
Every time anybody rings the poxy hotel he’s supposed to be staying at, he’s never
fucking there,’ Watson added.
‘What about Donohue, he recently had a run-in with Frank?’ Matlock asked.
‘I don’t think so, Donohue’s too up close and personal. This just isn’t his
style,’ Darren replied, shaking his head.
‘What I want to know is why the fuck should we do the police’s job for them?’
Matlock rasped.
‘Well somebody has to do their job for them because they’re useless bastards,’
Donald snapped back.
The driver of the black Fiat Punto stepped slowly from the vehicle and headed
towards the entrance of the restaurant carrying a rucksack with a looped wire
protruding from a small opening.
By now, the restaurant was full and the meals had already arrived. Their
conversation temporarily ceased as the six occupants tucked into their food.
Paul Watson was the first to notice the strange shape dressed in blood stained-
baggy blue overalls walking the short distance towards them. The bag was placed on
their table, spilling two drinks in the process.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Matlock asked harshly.
‘I’m the avenging angel and you are my next victims,’ replied the masked
figure as it pulled the loop of wire free of the bag, releasing the pins from the ten
Pearl fragmentation grenades before abruptly turning and fleeing.
The exploding rucksack was devastating as shrapnel flew in all directions
destroying everybody and everything in its explosive radius. All the windows were
blown out with the force of the blast; the six intended victims never stood a chance. It
was Darren (trying to keep his promise to his older brother) who lived the longest. He
had no legs and his right arm was missing. His face was a mass of painful, peeling
skin. He tried to turn his head but the action was difficult and caused him pain to do
so. Finally, he turned agonisingly onto his back muttering about rights and wrongs.
His last words were directed at Frank Hackett. Soon he was dead.
50 -- HE’S GOING TO BE A VERY LONELY MAN
WHEN HE GETS BACK
‘What the fuck’s happened here, Armageddon? It looks like the whole bloody
street’s been blown up.’
Chief Inspector Carlton stared around at the devastation in awe, shaking his
head. There were limbs and innards strewn around in pools of blood. Fragments of
glass and crockery was everywhere. The whole area was cordoned off and the street
had been evacuated. The bomb squad had arrived over forty-five-minutes earlier to
carry out their investigations and the forensic team had been there for thirty-minutes
sifting through debris. Fire crews, ambulances and police cars filled the street. Carlton
coaxed Williams outside.

‘What do you think?’ the Chief Inspector asked.
The few survivors had long since been rushed to hospital and Carlton was
desperate for a feasible answer, but instead Williams merely shrugged and uttered the
first thing that came into his head.
‘Well it looks to me that this could be the work of terrorists.’
Carlton turned to his colleague angrily, pointing out the destruction in front of
them.
‘Are you on fucking drugs or what man, don’t you realise this could be…’ He
was interrupted by a sergeant to his left accompanied by an Asian waiter who was
covered in blood and spaghetti sauce.
‘Excuse me Sir, but this gentleman says he saw what happened.’
The Chief Inspector glanced skywards and held out his hands.
‘Hallelujah…do you mean to tell me that we have a witness at last?’
The waiter began to speak while Williams took notes.
‘I was just coming through to the dining area when I noticed somebody
standing by the table nearest the entrance. He put a bag on the table and ran out, the
next thing I know the force of the explosion sent me back into the kitchen and…’
‘All right all right, what did this person look like?’ Carlton interrupted.
‘Well that’s the thing officer, he was wearing a ski mask or something, so I
didn’t see his face…and he looked like he had a boiler suit on or something.’
‘Well that’s not much to go on is it…Jesus, the only witness so far and he
doesn’t even see the bastard. There must have been some other features…was he tall,
short, fat, thin?’
‘I think I remember him being quite tall, but…’ Carlton became even more
frustrated.
‘For God’s sake man, what do mean you think?’ He gestured towards the
Sergeant.
‘Look, get his arse to the station and get a bloody statement from him, and be
quick about it.’ He turned back to Williams.
‘Whoever’s responsible for this has gone too far this time. Christ…fucking
bombs. What next?’
‘Who do you think did this if it wasn’t terrorists?’ Williams asked.
‘Fuck me, will you stop banging on about bloody terrorists and use your head.
In case you don’t know, this happens to be Hackett’s restaurant, and for all we know
some of his friends or family were in there; we’ll have to check the bookings if there’s
anything left of the damn register. Now if this is just a coincidence, then I’m a fucking
circus performer.’ They headed back towards the destroyed premises.
‘What the hell are they doing in there? They’ve been pissing about for ages.’ It
seemed every time Williams opened his mouth, Carlton became more annoyed, so he
chose to ignore his comments for the time being.
Sam Grice emerged from the ruins shaking his head.
‘It’s not a pretty sight in there, Bob,’ he said to the Chief Inspector.
‘It never was, and what the fuck are you doing here anyway? I mean it doesn’t
take a genius to work out it was an explosion that caused all this mayhem. Come to
think of it why the hell are the bomb squad here? The place is already blown to
smithereens.’
Grice as ever didn’t like the tone in Carlton’s voice.
‘I’m here because I get paid to be here, I don’t see you doing a great deal to
help,’ Grice snapped back smugly, which angered the detective. Suddenly a member
of the bomb disposal team walked towards them carrying a small plastic bag.
‘Find anything interesting?’ Williams asked.
‘Well we did find these outside on the pavement.’ He held up the bag, which
contained several pieces of metal connected to a length of wire. Carlton leaned closer
to inspect the contents.
‘What are they supposed to be?’ He asked.
‘Well they’re pins Sir, whoever’s responsible must have discarded them as
they fled the scene.
‘What do mean pins, what kind of pins?’ Carlton persisted.
‘Well they’re the kind you’d use to detonate grenades.’
‘Grenades.’ This is Newcastle, not the fucking Gaza Strip,’ the baffled Chief
inspector shouted.
‘If you’ll excuse me Sir.’ The man hurried away while Carlton entered the
wrecked building to view the carnage again. He quickly glanced around and noticed
the terrible remains of Darren Hackett – the only corpse that was recognisable.
‘Jesus wept, there’s not much left of them, let’s look for the register and see
who else met their fate.’ Carlton searched the bar area until he found what he was
looking for. He quickly flicked through the pages of the book (which was surprisingly
still in-tact) and found the fateful date. He scanned the page until he found the Hackett
triplets and the other three who dined with them.
‘A few more members of Frank’s clan have met their maker now,’ he said
worriedly.
‘Where the hell are we going?’ Williams asked as the Chief Inspector rushed
back outside into the cold.
‘Thornton’s already rang my mobile twice, so we’ll have to see what the
bastard wants.’
‘Didn’t he tell you what he wants on the phone?’
‘No, because I didn’t answer it so let’s just get over there because there’s not
much else we can do here anyway.’ Williams used his inhaler before starting the car.
‘A boiler suit and a ski mask…man alive. You know Harry, all the surviving
victims will have to be questioned about this. Johnson has to be behind this…he has
to be; the only thing that puzzles me is where the fuck did he get grenades from?’
William’s shook his head.
They both knew what kind of mood the Superintendent would be in when they
entered his office.
‘What the hell are you two doing here?’ Thornton snapped as they sat down.
‘I’ve come to see why you keep ringing my mobile, why else?’
‘For God’s sake man, if you actually answered the damn thing once in a while,
you’d know why I was ringing you. I was trying to find out about any developments
you fool.’
‘Well if you’d turn up at a crime scene every now and then, you could do
some investigating of your own, Sir.’
‘Less of the wise cracks Carlton, I’m not in the mood. Now what the hell
happened last night with Davis?’ Carlton sighed, knowing that his superior would get
around to this question eventually.
‘I’ve already told you what happened…the prick didn’t answer the door. Now
how many different ways do I have to spell it out for you man?’
Williams decided to speak.
‘Sir, I don’t mean to sound out of turn but since when did we graduate from
police officers to would-be hit men? You can’t just expect us to go around the place
killing everybody who has a big mouth.’
Thornton momentarily removed his cap and scratched his head.
‘I’ve had the area Commander on the phone for the last hour telling me that
we’re being threatened with a riot if improvements aren’t made pretty damn quick.
That bloody mob The People’s Lobby against Police Incompetence are staging a
demonstration within the next day or so, which means God knows how many
hundreds of the bastards will be marching through the city. What do you think will
happen if people like Davis start telling tales to the IPCC? Indeed, what the hell do
you think will happen if that mob out there get wind of how we run things?’
Williams ignored his ranting and turned to the window while the
Superintendent focused on Carlton again.
‘Don’t we have any other credible witnesses other than the fool that was
brought in a while ago? For God’s sake, he might as well be deaf, dumb and blind.
What about these grenades I heard about through the grapevine earlier, how long will
it be until we find out anything?’
‘Well, Sir, that’s up to forensics and the bomb people not us, but I think you
might want to take a look at this,’ Carlton replied, tossing the charred restaurant
register across the desk. It took Thornton a while to locate the relevant page and he
looked shocked as he scanned the list of diners for that night.
‘Sweet Jesus…most of these people were Hackett’s associates…at this rate
he’s going to be a very lonely man when he gets back…. Five of his family were
killed in the blast, and another three were his top money laundering experts: Maurice
the Mouse, Ray ‘The Shark’ Lorenzo, and Henry Douglass. Not to mention Jimmy
‘Vicious’ Vincent.’ He closed the book before slamming it onto the table.
‘Sir, what are you going to do about Davis? Because I’ll tell you something
now, if he knows we were round there last night…’
‘Don’t worry about him Bob…Not long after you left last night, the place was
swarming with officers and personally I don’t think the half-wit has a clue who was
responsible, and even if he did he won’t be hanging around for much longer if he
thinks his son’s life is in danger.’
The shrill ringing of the phone pierced the silence that followed. Thornton
snatched it up and couldn’t believe it when he heard Frank Hackett’s voice.
‘Frank, where the hell have you been?’ Carlton and Williams leaned closer
curiously.
‘Listen Jack my old son, it’s a long story but at the moment I’m at McCarran
airport and my fucking flight has been delayed for six hours, so I haven’t got a clue
when I’ll be back in Newcastle but I’ll tell you something, I can’t wait. The people are
so disrespectful over here that my head is spinning. By the way, get hold of the
triplets and inform them of my predicament when you get the chance, because I’ll be
wanting them to pick me up from the airport, but if they can’t make it, you’ll do I
suppose.’
‘I don’t quite know how to tell you this Frank, but…’
‘Don’t worry Jack old son, Trish told me something about the four killings,
heads are going to roll big style when I get back you can be sure of that. Where is
Trish anyway? I’ve been trying to reach her since I got released hours ago.’
‘Look Frank…t…there’s no e…easy way of saying this but…Trish has…’
‘Don’t tell me the bitch has finally left me. Christ, she’s been saying it since
we got married. Honestly Jack, that woman is like a broken record.’
Thornton squeezed his eyes shut with dread as Hackett laughed. He couldn’t
decide whether he should tell him everything now, or wait until he got back to
Newcastle. He knew that if he left it until his return his wrath would be
overwhelming. On the other hand though, telling him the bad news now would give
him plenty of time to calm down before his arrival. He decided on the latter.
‘Frank, your wife is dead and so are the triplets.’ There was an eerie silence at
the other end of the phone (occasionally punctuated with distant flight
announcements), which seemed to last forever.
‘Frank are you still there?’
‘What the hell are you talking about Jack? You’d better not be pissing about
because I’m in no mood for fucking games.’ Thornton told him about the murders,
surprisingly without interruptions. When he’d finished, Hackett mentioned a few
names and growled something about disrespectful enemies before he hung up. For
once Carlton noticed the sheer terror etched deep in the Superintendent’s features.
51 -- DEATH HAS COME A KNOCKING
DUNSTON, TYNE & WEAR:
Les Stewart and Frank Hackett’s niece, twenty-two-year old Justine Andrews had just
stepped from the bus and were braving the elements, which seemed to grow colder
with every step as they walked the half-mile towards the council house they shared.
They’d scoured a number of pubs in Newcastle in search of their poison, and they
knew they couldn’t give up until they scored.
With the help of her heroin addiction, Justine looked older than her age. Her
once thick, lustrous dark hair now hung loose in greasy strands framing a blemished
pale face. Her green eyes were no longer full of life as they were over a year ago and
her figure was no longer a healthy size 12 – she was deathly thin.
She suddenly rushed into a clump of bushes at the side of the road, and hastily
pulled down her jeans to urinate.
‘Can’t you wait till we get home, it’s only round the corner,’ Stewart rasped
angrily as he fumbled with his eye patch and glanced up and down the street with his
remaining eye. He’d love to be locked in a room with Donohue and a baseball bat for
what he’d done to him. He’d surely make him suffer slowly and painfully for taking
his eye.
‘Let’s just hurry up and get home before I bloody freeze to death,’ she said,
pulling up her jeans and following her boyfriend.
When they reached their house, her bloodshot eyes glanced around behind her
at the quiet street as Stewart searched for his keys and unlocked the door. He turned
the central heating full on before they both ascended the stairs towards the spare
bedroom, which was their drug den. It was strewn with takeaway boxes, empty
beer cans and dirty syringes. Incoherent graffiti (only readable to the people they
share their drug lives with) covered almost every inch of the four blood-stained walls.
Justine sat on the battered and stained couch while Stewart pulled out a box from the
top drawer of the dressing table.
Once they each had taken off their coats and rolled up their sleeves, he used a
Clipper lighter to heat up a blackened spoon, which contained a quantity of heroin.
She tightened a belt around the top of her left arm, tapping it frantically, desperate for
a vein to appear, her boyfriend plunged the syringe into her arm, injecting the brown
liquid deep into her system until her eyes took on a glazed effect. She mumbled
something incoherently before leaning back in a semi-conscious state.
A few minutes later, it was Stewart’s turn, and he too slumped back onto the
couch. He thought the same thoughts as his partner. His voice gave way to the
overpowering effects of the drug. ‘Wait till Frank gets back…he’ll sort everything
out...’ His words faded into nothingness as did his spirit before he drifted into a
timeless oblivion.
The black Fiat Punto had been parked across the street for over an hour, the
occupant waiting patiently for the two junkies to return.
‘I haven’t finished with you yet Hackett, you bastard. Death has come a
knocking,’ the killer muttered, climbing quietly from the car and walking slowly to
the back of the vehicle to open the boot. There was a large can of petrol and a plastic
tube to attach to the can to make the job of pouring the liquid easier.
When the contents of the whole can was emptied through the letterbox, the
killer had difficulty lighting a book of matches due to the lashing wind. When the
flame eventually took hold, they were hastily pushed through the letterbox and the
hall instantly erupted into an inferno. The arsonist quickly made off into the night.
Les Stewart was the first to return from his drug-induced stupor. His girlfriend
stirred and opened her eyes.
‘What time is it?’ she asked groggily.
‘I don’t know but I need a drink,’ he replied as he stumbled towards the
bedroom door, pausing when he reached it. He wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating,
but he thought he could smell the smoke even before he saw it seeping beneath the
door. He grabbed the handle and wrenched it open. The huge flames had now
travelled half-way up the stairs blocking the only available escape route. The thick
smoke made his eyes water and his dulled senses meant he didn’t realise that by
opening the door he’d fed the fire a fresh supply of oxygen. The flames reached the
top of the stairs at a phenomenal rate.

‘Fucking hell,’ he screamed as the cloying smoke forced him back into the
room.
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Justine asked frantically.
‘We’ve got to get out now…the window, move your arse man,’ Stewart
shouted. By now the inferno had reached the threshold.
Without hesitation he ran to the bedroom window, fumbling with the latch
until he managed to slide it wide open. That was the last mistake he ever made in his
short lifetime, for the flames suddenly rushed into the room towards this new-found
source of fuel to engulf the two of them mercilessly. They rolled around omitting
piercing screams of sheer agony as their flesh melted away from them.
52 -- A TICKING TIME BOMB READY TO BLOW
NEWCASTLE CITY CENTRE, TYNE & WEAR:
‘How many of these idiots are supposed to be involved in this farce of a march
anyway?’ Williams asked as he put his inhaler back in his pocket.
‘Close to two-thousand last I heard,’ replied Carlton, shaking his head. He
didn’t want to be here; he could think of far better things to do.
‘As if we don’t have enough bastard problems to deal with as it is,’ a young
constable muttered as he stared skywards at the light flakes of snow that fell evenly in
the absence of the strong wind, which had battered the city for two months.
The People’s Lobby against Police Incompetence had been on a protest march
for ninety-minutes, and now they’d stopped across the road from the police station.
Their leader flanked by two burly men, climbed onto a podium and began one of his
ranting tirades through a megaphone.
Almost four-hundred riot police were deployed along the streets. Crowds from
all walks of life lined the pavements expecting trouble from the tension in the
atmosphere. It seemed that any trust in the police force had long since dissipated. The
line of protesters (most of which carried banners or home-made signs expressing their
anger towards authority) literally filled the width of the street. The human tailback
seemed to stretch for never ending miles. The leader of the demonstration was in his
thirties, he wore a parka with the hood pulled tightly around his face. The metallic
drone of his voice went on:
‘The police in this city do not care about their duties as upholders of the law,
and as far as I can see…there is no law. We are a peaceful community and we will
not tolerate lawlessness in any of our neighbourhoods. It’s getting to the very stage
when
ordinary hard working people are too afraid to step outside at any time of the day or
night. We are here to secure our territory, we are here to reclaim our once safe
streets…’
Williams couldn’t believe his ears.
‘Where the bloody hell does he think he is…fucking Woodstock? I tell you the
bloke’s living in a dream world. Crime twenty-years ago was just as bad, if not worse
than it is today…it’s just that the population is bigger that’s all…’
Carlton faced him annoyed.
‘He doesn’t have a clue how we’ve investigated any murders, so just shut it
and enjoy the show because the sooner he gets it over with, the sooner I can go home,
have a drink and shag my wife…now shut it.’

The leader continued:
‘Superintendent Jack Thornton is not protecting our community. He’s
supposed to be investigating the fourteen murders that have occurred since
December. Now I ask you people, should he stand down?’ All around was filled with
a roaring “Yes” from the huge crowd and before long, an almighty chanting filled the
air; every walk of life seemed to follow suit, including a few constables.
‘Jack Thornton stand down, you are just a useless clown. Jack Thornton stand
down, you are just a useless clown.’
‘Who’s in charge today anyway?’ a middle-aged Sergeant just over five-feet
tall asked. Carlton rubbed his eyes before replying in mid-yawn.
‘Well since you ask Mr…whoever, You’re not from this force so I don’t think
it has anything to do with you.’ Carlton glared down at him unflinchingly after his
own harsh words.
‘Now go away you horrible little bastard, and don’t bother me again because I
don’t know whether you’ve noticed, but we have a problem brewing.’
The Sergeant slowly pulled off his cap and met the Inspector’s glare with
contempt.
‘Now you listen to me Carlton…I know exactly who you are…you’re one of
the ones we happen to have a large and tasty file on, and what’s more, you deserve to
be kicked off the force for all the bent rules you’ve invented for your crooked boys.
Get this, Mr so-called Chief Inspector, the only reason me and some of the boys are
here is because we had no choice…all the way from Cumbria and Durham to sort
your problems out…my oh my Chief Inspector Robert Armstrong Carlton is at a loss
again,’
Carlton looked down at him unperturbed.

‘Now you listen to me Sergeant…whoever you are…just…’
‘No you listen to me, and for once take notice of what you’re being told
Inspector, your precious city is heading for a fall, it’s a ticking time bomb ready to
blow, and understand this, I don’t want to be here when the whole fiasco happens.’
The Chief Inspector thought he looked comical with the snow piling onto his
grey hair; at the same time he was surprised at the Sergeant’s bravado, he almost
replied, but another tirade ensued. This time though, it was egg-throwing directed
towards Superintendent Thornton, who quickly discarded the hotdog, which he’d just
bought and tried to make his way through the baying crowds towards the police
station, but it was difficult.
By the time he sat at his desk, he was saturated with the pelting of the mad
crowd. He rang Hackett’s mobile number and to his surprise, it was answered
promptly.
‘Frank it’s jack…’
‘Before you say anything else Thornton you stupid bastard, let me give you
some good advice…don’t tell a soul whatsoever where I am or how long ago it was
since I was deported. Now I’m waiting at Newcastle airport, so where the fuck are
you?’
‘I’m sorry Frank, but I can’t possibly help you this time. Far too much has
happened in the last few weeks. Things are going on that you wouldn’t even begin to
understand…what do you mean deported? Frank, everybody’s been demented and I
don’t…
‘Jack, old son, do you mean to tell me that nobody has so much as lifted a
finger to defend me in my absence? What the fuck have you been doing all this time?
Fuck me man, you’re supposed to be making things tick over nice and smoothly while
I was busy at work in the States…where’s Carlton? Put the bastard on the phone, if I
want some sense out of somebody I’ll speak to that thick cunt.’
‘Look Frank, we’re in the middle of something that might turn out to be a big
bastard here…’
Hackett spoke eerily quiet.
‘Now you listen to me Thornton…I’m back on familiar turf now so you can do
your own thing. In the meantime I’m going to do what I think is best, which is
something that you’ll never have to know about, so I suggest that you and your pals
do whatever you think is right, and I’ll find an angle of my own to play with. Believe
this Thornton, I don’t need a scientist to help me. I’m all fired up and ready to shoot.
My advice to you is to keep out of my way when I execute my next plan without the
help of you fucking idiots. Like I said before…heads will roll big style, and when I’m
finished you’d better find a good hiding place because I’ll be coming for you. By the
way, how’s the big fella…oh…and my kids?’
‘Don’t err…worry F…Frank, they’re safe and sound with your sisters…they
are all fighting about who should pamper them most…’
‘I swear on my mother’s life, Thornton, you couldn’t even cut fresh air if you
had the sharpest knife in the world. I wouldn’t even waste the word “fuckwit” on you,
now if you don’t mind, I have serious business to attend to.’ Hackett abruptly hung
up, leaving Thornton to return to dealing with the chaos outside his office.
‘You bunch of meaningless fucking wankers, I have a wife and kids, so if you
think that you can…’ He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of White
Horse whisky; he took a few hefty swigs straight from the bottle before returning it to
his drawer. He suddenly rushed down the staircase as fast as he could. When he
reached the large doors, he paused before venturing breathlessly outside again.
‘Why the fuck don’t they do something…arrest somebody?’ he shouted at
himself, slowly shaking his head at the lack of support from his so-called colleagues.
He angrily fought his way through the huge gathering.
‘We want your resignation Thornton because you’re no good,’ the leader shouted
through the megaphone, almost deafening the Superintendent as he was only a few
feet away. His eyes burned into him as he kept on shouting.
‘You’re supposed to be in charge, you’re supposed to make our streets safe
but no, instead you disappear for a winter holiday when you’re most needed.’ He
turned his megaphone to the crowd again and this time his voice was louder and more
forceful.
‘Not only does this incompetent police Chief have no answers, but he also has
lies written all over his face ladies and gentlemen…should we have his resignation?
If you agree all say aye.’ The whole street erupted in repeat of the word.
By now greedy reporters and film crews were appearing rapidly from all
networks of the media. They only served to clog up the mass of people even more
though.
Amidst more taunts, Thornton made his way back through the crowd, which
had grown considerably in the last few minutes. On the way across the street, endless
microphones were pushed towards him; he pushed most of the reporters out of the
way, but one annoying and determined interviewer wouldn’t take heed. Thornton
punched him in the mouth, and the only reason he didn’t hit the snow covered tarmac
with a bang, was because his fall was saved by the growing sea of people.
‘I hope you got that on film you bastards,’ he shouted towards the nearest
TV camera. He pushed his way past more people and stopped, seething to himself
because he couldn’t see any officers he knew. After a while, he caught sight of
Carlton and Williams, so he rudely pushed through more crowds until he reached
them. They both stared at him in disbelief. Williams almost sniggered at his £1700
suit, which was stained beyond repair. Neither of the detectives had seen their
superior in this state before and it amused them – his voice amused them even more.
‘For the love of God man, do something you fools…move them on or make
some arrests…anything. They pelted me with eggs…they assaulted a senior police
officer. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’ In his frenzied state he didn’t realise that
more anchormen and microphones were closing in all around him. Questions were
fired from all angles; he turned round angrily and was about to throw another punch
when his arm was grabbed roughly by somebody to his right – it was Stephen
Stevens, the area Commander. He was a broad forty-five-year-old man and slightly
taller than Thornton, and he always spoke with authority. He spun Thornton round,
sharply fixing his small green eyes on him through his bifocals.
‘You’re the one who’ll be arrested for assault if you’re not careful Jack, now
just go home and calm down because it’s obvious you’re not welcome round here.’
Thornton was shocked by his comments.
‘Arrest me, what the hell…I don’t believe this is happening.’ He pointed to
the leader.
‘He’s the one who’s stirring up the trouble can’t you see that you fool?’
‘From where I’m standing Thornton, I can’t say I blame him. These
allegations and rumours that have been reaching my office of late cause me to wonder
about you very much indeed, and I’ll tell you this much…if any of it’s true; then God
help your arse Thornton. In my eyes, the only thing worse than a corrupt police
officer is a paedophile.’
The Superintendent was furious.
‘I’ll tell you something Stevens, before you start making accusations and
blowing me aside like cigarette ash, I joined this force when you were still watching
the fucking Wombles on telly so don’t you dare tell me to go home because I’m in
charge of this pandemonium. Christ, you were a sperm bubble on the end of your
dad’s knob when I started being in charge…and I still am in charge of this shit.’
‘Not anymore Thornton,’ the area Commander said evenly. The smug
expressions on the faces of his colleagues angered him even more.
‘Look Stevens, I’m in charge of everything round here so just stick that up
your arse and fart it. I have the authority to move this rabble on, and mark my
words…’
This time Stevens began to shout.
‘Get it into your head Jack, you’re not needed nor wanted at present so just go
home before you do get arrested, because now I’m in charge. By the way, who the
hell gave you the authority to close the Elliott case, what were you thinking of making
a decision like that without checking with your superiors first?’
Carlton and Williams stood at either side of him smirking without hiding it.
‘Don’t worry I’m going, who wants to be around you bloody spastics
anyway?.’ Thornton threatened more camera crews before he eventually disappeared
into the crowd.
‘That told him…the pompous bastard,’ Carlton said loudly prompting Stevens
to glare at him angrily.
‘Get this into your thick head Carlton, I’m running this show now so if
I was you I’d wipe that smirk of your face because you and your partner here are
going to do something useful.’

‘Like what?’ Williams asked, pulling out his inhaler.
‘Like getting these moronic wannabe film directors out from under my nose
because they’re really starting to irritate me…now do it, and do it quick before I have
the pair of you directing traffic for the next five years.’ The two detectives glanced at
each other in bewilderment. Williams almost delivered a witty reply but thought
better of it, knowing that he could never outwit the younger man. They skulked
towards the media, barking orders. The ranting from the megaphone continued
regardless.
‘Well there you have it ladies and gentlemen, you’ve just witnessed with your
own eyes that Superintendent Jack Thornton has been…told off. I mean can you
believe it? The man who’s supposed to be keeping our streets safe has been sent home
with his tail between his legs…’
‘This is not on you know Stephen, the bastard should be moved on…he’s
causing civil unrest…and the twat is right outside a bloody police station,’ a middle-
aged constable said worriedly as he scanned the mass of people.
‘I’ll decide when to move them on Ricky, so why don’t you just enjoy the
spectacle for the time being because there’s not much we can do about it…we’re
heavily outnumbered in case you haven’t noticed.’
The PC shrugged and walked away; the leader turned his attention to Stevens.
‘Well, how about that ladies and gents, it looks like there’s another boy in
blue
who’s in charge. One big question we should all ask ourselves people…why are there
so many riot police creating so much tension when all we’re doing is trying to get a
point across? This is a peaceful demonstration and if any violence occurs today…it
will be caused by the police.’ The crowd roared.

53 -- ROUGH JUSTICE
SOUTHWICK, SUNDERLAND, TYNE & WEAR:
Bryan Donohue desperately needed to get out of Sunderland, he couldn’t take much
more sitting around waiting and hoping. He drove the stolen 1999 Honda Civic Si
coupe nervously but steadily into the unkempt garden and quietly climbed from the
car. He knew he’d taken a huge risk by stealing it from the Somerfield car park, but
one thing he needed was a set of wheels.
Tina Scott sat on the couch looking as ghastly as ever.
‘Come on Tina, you’d better sort yourself out because as I said last night this
might be the last job I ever do…it should set us up for life.’ He ran his hands through
his greasy hair.

She looked up at him with confused, bloodshot eyes.
‘What do you want me to do, can’t I just stay here and wait for you to come
back?’
‘I told you last night, I need you to drive because I can’t do the fucking job on
my own man.’
She lay on her side resting her head on the arm of the couch.
‘Please Bryan, I just want to sleep…I…I just can’t do…’
‘Come on man Tina, we can’t stay here any longer don’t you understand?’ he
shouted, pulling her roughly to her feet. She seemed to have almost unwittingly
kicked her crack addiction as she’d been asleep for most of their stay. Each time she
awoke with the utmost craving, he fed her even more Triazolam to send her back into
oblivion – but now she craved them instead.
He’d been keeping up-to-date with the local news on the TV, and he thought
that if he pulled off his next job in Newcastle it might go unnoticed because of the
protest march. At first he cursed and ridiculed the crowds on the TV screen until he
realised that this could be the ideal opportunity for the bank heist he had in mind. It
was an idea that sprang to mind some months ago but they weren’t organised.
Besides, only his psycho friend, Steve Dodds was up for it and he was too
unpredictable for his own good.
‘Please Bryan I’m so tired, can’t we do it tomorrow instead?’
‘Don’t be fucking stupid woman, we have to do it today because Newcastle is
swarming with demonstrators.’
‘It’s swarming with police as well, did you ever think of that?’ her words were
shaky. He grabbed her shoulders and looked into her vacant eyes knowing that to
contemplate letting her drive such a distance was a huge risk – it could seal both their
fates.
‘I tell you what, I’ll drive there, but I’m going to need your help to get away…
are you listening?’
‘Okay, but where are we going afterwards?’
‘I don’t know…err… London or somewhere, let’s just get it over and done
with; then we might go to France through the tunnel.’ Her eyes lit up.
‘France, that sounds good.’ He picked up the Springfield and Browning
before they opened the front door and rushed towards the Honda. He paused when he
opened the door and glanced at the gloomy mid-day sky, the snow seemed to be
falling quite heavily now. Maybe even the weather would act as another blanket to
help cover his tracks.
It had taken him fifty-minutes to reach the Tyne bridge as there seemed to be
more traffic on the road than usual. He suddenly became aware of a patrol car behind
him when he reached the north side of the bridge; it seemed to be closing the gap
between them. To his horror the lights began to flash.
‘I don’t fucking believe this, the bastard wants me to stop.’
‘Who?’
‘Take a look behind.’ Tina’s eyes widened in horror when she glanced through
the back window.
‘Oh no, what the hell are we going to do now?’ Without answering, he put the
car in fourth gear and overtook the two cars in front, narrowly missing the railings.
‘The bastards aren’t going to throw a fucking spanner in the works for me,’ he
seethed as his speed increased. The sound of sirens filled the air as the three
policemen in the car were now in hot pursuit. Luckily for him the road ahead was
relatively empty, but he soon realised that it was also lucky for the following police
car, which was closing the gap once more. He increased his speed; he was now doing
over sixty – dangerously fast for the city streets.
‘Jesus, how the fuck am I going to lose these twats?’ he screamed into the rear
view mirror.
‘Why didn’t you just stop when they flashed?’ Tina asked, but immediately
regretted the ridiculous question.
‘God Almighty man use your fucking head, we’re two fugitives in a stolen
car…I somehow don’t think they would pull me over to ask me what time of fucking
day it is.’
‘You’re the one who’s wanted by the police Bryan, not me,’ she screamed
back at him.
‘Shit,’ he shouted as the Honda clipped the curb and he almost lost control. He
suddenly became aware with dismay that he was hurtling down a one way street.
‘I don’t fucking believe this is happening…I just don’t believe it,’ he cursed
loudly. He’d passed a side street on his left a few seconds ago and he knew he
should’ve taken it, but his girlfriend’s voice had distracted him. He abruptly executed
a handbrake turn that spun the car full circle aided by the thin layer of snow, causing
Tina to scream loudly. The patrol car tried the same manoeuvre but the driver was too
slow. Donohue sped on in the opposite direction and smashed into the rear fender of
the Ford Focus, spinning it round so that it was also facing the opposite direction,
making it easier for the pursuit to continue.
‘Why the fuck did I do that?’ Donohue snarled. Tyres skidded as he turned
right into the side street he’d missed earlier, but the police were still closing in. His
foot pressed even harder on the accelerator and now the Honda was approaching
seventy-five mph narrowly missing other traffic and pedestrians; he weaved in and
out of cars as best he could, startled onlookers stared in horror at the high speed chase.
All of a sudden there seemed to be people everywhere beyond the railings. There was
a parked scooter up ahead but he hit it, sending smashed parts of the vehicle in all
directions.
After another quarter-of-a-mile, he turned into another street and was shocked
at the sight that greeted him. A huge mass of people seemed to fill every available
square foot of the area – police were everywhere. There was even a massive gang of
bikers cruising on speed bikes and choppers. He quickly hit the brakes but it was too
late, the Honda careered out of control and struck a steel bollard; the front of the car
folded up with the impact. Tina wasn’t wearing a seatbelt, so she was hurled through
the windscreen with such force that her skull smashed like an egg as she hit the wall
in front of her. Donohue felt a few ribs crack as his seatbelt tightened around his
chest, but it saved him from too much damage.
The driver of the patrol car braked harshly causing the car to spin out of
control; the vehicle flipped over and continued to bounce and roll like a giant boulder
towards the screaming crowds. It crushed two of the chopper-riding bikers killing
them instantly before ploughing into legions of people, leaving a path of destruction
in its wake. A young Mother tried in vain to push her pram out of its path but it was
too late; the car crushed her and her infant against the railings. The mangled wreck
landed upright and the three police constables staggered from the smashed vehicle
relatively unhurt, but dazed and bloodied.
The leader of the demonstration took off his hood, he looked on speechless.
Screams and shouts filled the air as people tried to take in the catastrophe that
had just taken place.
‘Kill the murdering bastards,’ the leader screamed into his megaphone, and
immediately hoards of people rushed forward surrounding the three constables. They
didn’t stand a chance, for the weapons most of the protesters wielded were concealed
until now. The angry mob were upon them, stabbing, slashing, beating. The riot police
surged forward, but they too were heavily outnumbered. All the while, the leader was
inciting his hatred and violence towards the law, but his screaming voice was now
competing with the unfolding chaos.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, this is what the country has been reduced to…you’ve
witnessed it with your own eyes, three police officers have just murdered a number of
innocent bystanders and now it’s time for…rough justice.’
All hell had broken loose; the media and film crews were having a field day –
they never dreamed they would capture anything like this. The area Commander
fought his way through the crowds towards the podium where the leader of the march
was still shouting into his megaphone. By now the riot police were backing off as the
advancing angry crowd focused their attention on them. A nearby DIY shop window
was smashed, people stormed the premises grabbing any tool they could lay their
hands on.
When area Commander Stevens reached the podium, he shoved the leader
aside and took his megaphone – his voice was desperate.
‘Everybody please stay calm, this behaviour is not the answer…I promise you
all that there will be an extensive inquiry into this unfortunate incident. I repeat…this
behaviour is not the answer…’ they were the last words that escaped his lips before
three bullets from Bryan Donohue’s Springfield 1911 from point blank range caught
him in the chest, blood sprayed the wall behind before he slumped to the floor. The
leader immediately retrieved the megaphone and continued to speak as though the
murder of Stevens hadn’t even happened. Donohue now pointed the gun at him and
emptied the magazine into him mercilessly, he fell backwards to land on top of the
area Commander, their blood ironically mixing together in the shallow snow. The
leader’s two bodyguards moved swiftly towards him but slowed their pace somewhat
when he pulled out the Browning Capitan High Power. He shot the first one in the
face, shattering his jawbone and knocking him backwards slightly, but he lurched
forward in a rage until Donohue fired again, this time the bullet hit him in the
forehead killing him outright. the second bodyguard caught a bullet in the neck, his
jugular erupted in a huge scarlet fountain splashing everybody nearby. He was about
to fire again, but he felt a searing pain in his left shoulder. He screamed and turned
round sharply, scanning the clearing in the crowd until he saw a bearded, leather-clad
biker sat astride a Harley Davidson Fatboy pointing a Remington mcs pump action
shotgun directly at him. He was about twenty-feet away and about to fire again,
Donohue rushed forward levelling his own gun, omitting a fearless battle cry . He
fired off two rounds in succession, the first bullet skimmed off the top of the biker’s
helmet, and hit somebody else behind him, the second round missed its target
altogether and pierced a riot shield, severely injuring a police officer. The biker fired
again, hitting him in his right thigh, which slowed him down. He carried on though,
still screaming his defiance as though he knew he had to fight to the death. Thoughts
of Tina Scott flashed into his mind fleetingly before he was shot again, this time in the
chest, but still he kept on moving, his angry shouting was now a mere weak gurgle as
blood gushed from his lips. He stopped five feet in front of the biker and raised his
gun once more. Before he could shoot again, the shotgun discharged a fourth blast,
obliterating Donohue’s head. His headless corpse crashed to the ground, and the pool
of warm blood from his body slowly melted the snow around him.
The riot police continued to back off, and protect themselves with their shields
against various missiles. Even Molotov cocktails were hurled in their direction. The
angry mob began to chant: ‘Kill, Kill, Kill.’ The biker that had killed Bryan Donohue
shot randomly into the retreating line of riot police, knocking one of them down.
Another gun was discharged felling another and more missiles of every description
were hurled by looters (who didn’t have anything to do with the protest). They
smashed shop windows to grab anything they could use as weapons. Closed signs
were ignored as the doors were smashed down, metal shutters were prised open,
everybody (young and old) seemed to be joining in the chaos just for the hell of it.
Seven shops had already been petrol bombed after the assistants wouldn’t comply to
their demands for the takings. They took the money anyway, fighting about it
amongst themselves, only adding to the already disastrous events.
Uniformed officers scrambled to their vehicles amidst a hail of shop items:
ornaments, bottles, cans of pop, tools. Even furniture was thrown into the street.
The short Sergeant who argued with Carlton earlier ran to his patrol car
followed by other officers; they closed the doors just in time before the mob reached
the vehicle and began rock it, attempting to turn it over. He reached for the radio,
frantically calling for help or back up of any kind when the car was pelted with a
petrol bomb; the flames engulfed the whole chassis much to the terror of the five
officers in the burning car. The view through the windscreen was now a mass of
flames. Another firebomb hit them.
‘Shit, go go go…now,’ the officer in the passenger seat shouted. The flaming
car surged forward – but it didn’t get very far. The explosion could be heard from
streets away, fragments of steel flew in all directions wounding and killing everybody
within feet (including the ones who threw the Molotov Cocktails).
Carlton and Williams rushed towards the nearest police van; they scrambled
into the back and closed the doors just before an angry mob reached the vehicle. One
of them smashed one of the back door windows with a mallet, showering the officers
inside with glass.
‘You fucking scumbags,’ Carlton shouted as the van sped off, and the
uniformed driver didn’t care how many people he ploughed through as he crushed
them under the wheels with delight.
‘For fuck’s sake get hold of the armed response unit…anybody, just get some
help man,’ Carlton screamed through the mesh at another uniformed officer in the
passenger seat, who immediately reached for the radio; his voice was loud and tinged
with fear when he eventually got through to the appropriate personnel.
‘We need urgent assistance…riot in progress, suspects armed…officers down,
I repeat…officers down…’ the officer had difficulty in pinpointing their position
because they were on the move at high speed, and by now swarms of rioters were
jumping out of the way. Missiles bounced from the bonnet and the sides of the
van as it raced onwards, swathing a dangerous path through the manic populace.
‘Get in touch with the Air support unit while you’re at it, unless somebody
already has,’ Williams shouted before using his inhaler. The passenger contacted
Newcastle Airport.
To their horror, a hail of bullets suddenly peppered the windscreen,
miraculously missing any officers inside. Carlton instinctively ducked.
‘Jesus fucking wept, how many of the bastards have guns, and where the
bloody hell are they getting them from? he shouted .’
Williams pulled out his inhaler, fumbling with it before he screamed a reply.
‘You know exactly where they’re coming from you idiot…and don’t pretend
you don’t. Hackett’s been flooding this city with firearms for fucking years, and
you’ve helped him all the way. I tell you what Carlton, I’m sick and tired of this shit
now…to hell with the lot of you. I’m retiring after this is over with because I’m sick
of you bent twats.’ Williams expression was painful after his tirade; he hunched over,
gripped his chest and struggled for air as his inhaler fell from his grasp, it clattered to
the floor of the van. The pelting from the herds of police-haters on the streets grew
ever more forceful when they had to slow down to turn a corner. The vehicle almost
skidded out of control, but the steely determination of the driver kept his head low,
barely above the dashboard.
By now Williams was on his knees clutching his chest in agony; his eyes
bulged in his head as though the Grim Reaper was inches in front of him, gesturing
mockingly. A young constable went to his aid when he lost his balance and fell to the
floor. Another sudden jerk of the van made him involuntary roll onto his back, but
the officer had recently passed a first aid course so he began to try and resuscitate
him. Carlton buried his face in his hands momentarily before speaking.
‘I told you fucking weeks ago you were out of shape Williams…now look at
you…you overgrown slob.’ The Chief inspector knelt by Williams and spoke louder
this time.
‘If you’re thinking of having a heart attack, you could’ve picked a better time
than this.’
The young PC looked up sharply.
‘This man is almost in cardiac arrest, but he can be saved if we get to the
nearest hospital…and fast now just get back.’ Loud wheezing sounds came from
Williams as he lay semi-conscious.
‘Christ why aren’t there any ambulances anywhere yet?’ the PC asked angrily.
Carlton sat back down and began another rant.
‘I wouldn’t worry about him too much sunshine, because he’s as much use as
dog shit on designer shoes…this is probably the best thing he’s done since…’
‘Shut your mouth you imbecile, this man is almost dead…doesn’t that mean
anything to you?’
Carlton grimaced and quickly turned away from the harsh, but true words. He
briefly thought of his loved ones – there weren’t many, and the very few people who
put up with him were the ones who he convinced that they should endure his wrath
otherwise.
‘Get the fat bastard to hospital then, he’s probably only having an asthma
attack anyway…but be fucking quick about it because the city is going up in smoke,
and I’m going to make sure that people knew we were in the thick of it. Hey son…we
might even receive medals for this…we’ll be the hero’s of the whole force…can you
imagine that?’
The PC became enraged at Carlton’s arrogance and
disregard for his colleague, but decided that expressing his feelings was pointless. The
van raced through Monument, where hundreds more rioters ran amok, so the driver
increased his speed. Even on Percy street there was bedlam.
‘You’re missing all the fun out here Williams,’ Carlton shouted above the din.
Before the PC was able to comment, the van pulled into the car park of The Royal
Victoria Infirmary.
54 -- BOTH SIDES OF THE FENCE
HAYMARKET, NEWCASTLE:
A police helicopter hovered above the chaos. It danced up and down like a giant
propelled Yoyo. The rioting had inevitably spread to other parts of the city and there
was still no sign of any armed response units.
By now the police were trying to set up road blocks to try and contain the
mayhem and keep innocent people out of the area, but the task seemed impossible.
They were still waiting for more back up from Durham and Cumbria, even Cleveland
forces. They’d requested another helicopter too.
Every parked car in sight was smashed, overturned and burnt out or blown up.
Armed and angry yobs (most of them even with their parents) rampaged through the
city streets looting, destroying and burning out shops. They seemed to have forgotten
why they were angry and who the real enemy was as they even raided pubs to attack
the locals within just to vent their frustration, causing vigilantes to fight back against
them. It was a free-for-all and spreading rapidly.
TV crews, correspondents and newspaper reporters were everywhere, taking
huge risks. One reporter from a local tabloid was foolish and brave enough to venture
towards the edge of the violence; she was a young woman of twenty-four, trying
desperately and dangerously to obtain a riveting story in order to climb a few more
rungs up the career ladder. She thrust a huge microphone towards the advancing mob.
‘Excuse me sir, are the rumours that have been circulating true…that a police
car purposely crashed, killing six innocent people?’ Do you have any comments on
the so-called inadequate policing in the area? How do you think this behaviour will
effect the economy of the city as a whole?’ The mass of young men at which she
directed the questions were quashing her quest. Most wore hooded fleeces and one of
them began to hurl a torrent of abuse at her.
‘The fucking black bastards murdered a woman and her kid and if you don’t
fuck off out of our faces, you’ll get the same you fucking bitch.’ The reporter was
unperturbed by the outburst but she found it increasingly difficult to keep her footing
as she was walking backwards.
‘Sir, I’m piecing together an article about the whole situation right across the
board, which means I need to obtain a clear picture of today’s events from both sides
of the fence so to speak…would you care to comment on the real reason for today’s
demonstration?’
‘She’s fucking taping all this,’ another angry voice shouted before a third
youth rushed forward, snatched the Dictaphone from her and crushed it beneath his
foot. Another grabbed her microphone and destroyed that also. Now she realised just
how dangerous the situation had become. These people can’t and won’t be reasoned
with, they wanted mayhem without a goal. She was suddenly surrounded and kicked
and punched to the ground, more reporters moved forward to help but it was too late,
she disappeared beneath dozens of stamping feet. The other reporter’s suffered the
same fate.
About fifty feet ahead there was another police cordon, sealing off the area
around the Haymarket Metro station. About ten youths at the front of the herd began
to light more petrol bombs, hurling them towards the police. Some of the missiles
landed short of their targets, but one bottle shattered, engulfing riot shields in flames,
but before they had chance to throw more freshly lit ones, the blast from two powerful
water cannons struck the swarm of people with ferocity, forcing them backwards like
felled skittles. They dispersed, fleeing in random directions, but more police vans had
pulled up, blocking exits and hemming them in. Rubber bullets were fired at random
into the crowd, felling even more rioters. This was the chance the police were looking
for, they charged forward from all sides towards the now disorientated mob, batons at
the ready. The pandemonium that followed was ultimately brutal, the riot police used
their batons indiscriminately striking anybody except their own – women, children
and innocent victims were caught in the crossfire and it wasn’t long before the snow
covered streets had turned red.

55 -- LET’S WORK TOGETHER
The Lion’s Den was packed more than usual and all eyes were glued to the TV
screen, watching the terrible carnage.
‘Fuck me, I’ve never seen anything like this in my life,’ Nick Henshall
remarked.
‘The police have lost the plot,’ Mason slurred. He was nursing his fifth large
brandy. Donohue decided on bitter lemon to maintain a clear head.
‘I can’t believe I…I used to be with that lot…Christ, I feel so ashamed,’ Colin
Davis’s voice was also slurred as he’d downed six pints of Stella in under two hours.
He continued.
‘You know…if these bastards ever get to court, I’ll have a few words to say
about the bunch of bloody crooks.’
Donohue patted him on the back.
‘Don’t worry Colin, I’ll help you all I can…I’d like nothing more than to see
all those bent bastards drown in their own shit.’ Donohue looked deep into his eyes.
‘Look Col, the job you had was…well not really suitable when you’re
bringing up a son. Get away from here and start again for God’s sake, you’re worth
more than this shite man. Do it for your boy if nothing else.’
‘Where am I supposed to go Tommy when I’m a…a wanted man?’
‘There’s ways and means of doing things Col.’
Donohue left his bar stool and headed towards an empty corner clutching his glass
tightly. He put out his cigarette and stared into space when he sat down. Dawn
Howarth also left the bar to join him at the table. She noticed tears in his eyes and
gripped his hand tightly.
‘What’s wrong, babe?’ she asked soothingly. He glanced at her briefly.
‘Oh it’s nothing, I…I was just thinking about my mum that’s all, nothing for
you to be concerned about.’
She kissed him on the cheek.
‘Tom, if you’re upset it does concern me because I love you and I hate it when
you’re feeling down.’
‘I’ll be okay babes honestly, don’t worry, as soon as…’ he was interrupted by
the vibrating of his mobile. He reached into his pocket and flipped it open – it was
Frank Hackett. It was only a matter of time, he thought bitterly as he hastily made his
way towards the toilet.
‘Before you say anything, Hackett, I had absolutely nothing to do with all
these killings so you can point the finger of blame at somebody else because I’m just
not in the mood…anyway, you’ve made so many enemies over the years, it could
be just about any fucking idiot.’
‘Listen Tom my old son, I haven’t called you to make accusations. I just want
to get to the bottom of this mess because it seems to me that in my absence, not one
copper has come up with even half-a-clue.’
‘Well why the hell are you calling me? As far as I’m concerned our dealings
with each other are over. You had two innocent kids killed because you couldn’t get
at me, and as a result of that, their mother couldn’t cope with the grief, so she threw
herself off a bloody cliff as if you didn’t already fucking know.’
‘Calm down, Tommy, I’m not accusing you…I know who the culprit is, it’s
that psycho copper Johnson. Let’s work together; maybe we can find the bastard
before he strikes again. I mean it could be you next.’
Donohue couldn’t believe how calm he sounded.
‘Look Hackett, what else do you want from me?’
‘Well Tom, I’ll come straight to the point, I want you to come over to Frank’s
Palace at six today, which gives you ninety-minutes to get here because we need to sit
down and talk about this and come up with some answers. I’ve also rang Mickey
Bennett to ask him the same favour and he agreed…ring him yourself if you don’t
believe me.’
‘Okay you win, I think we both need to get things off our chest, but this better
not be another one of your pathetic fucking games.’
‘I’m getting too old for that kind of shit Tom, I’ve already lost a lot of good
people…The grenades that blew my restaurant to pieces had to have something to do
with Johnson, I mean the bastard has plenty of access to military supplies. I found out
a few minutes ago that grenades were used, and I’ll tell you this…the cunt is dead…I
swear on my Mother’s life, he’ll suffer big style for this.’
Donohue’s heart skipped a beat.
‘Grenades…what the hell do you mean?’
‘I mean Johnson’s gone too far this time and he has to be found. My three
brothers and two cousins as well as quite a few colleagues of mine were eating in
there at the time. By the way Tom old son, the pub is closed due to the shit that’s
going down in the city so I suggest you use the side entrance.’ Hackett hung up
leaving Donohue to stare at his mobile in disbelief. He quickly rang Alan Elliott’s
landline and waited impatiently.
Bonzo, the black Labrador, barked loudly when Elliott’s landline screeched.
‘Shut it you stupid worthless mutt, he shouted angrily as he hastily picked up
the receiver to be greeted by Donohue’s accusing voice.
‘I suppose you think you’ve got away with it you stupid bastard, but I tell you
something Elliott, I’m going over to meet Hackett at “Frank’s Palace” in an hour-and-
a-half’s time and if it slips out that you’re responsible for his crumbling empire…God
help you. In fact I suggest you leave the country, but wherever you decide to go I’d
still sleep with one eye open if I was you sunshine…’
‘What the hell are you going on about, Donohue?’
‘Don’t give me that shit you fucking moron, it was you who broke into my
house and stole my guns wasn’t it?’
‘Look Donohue, I haven’t got the slightest idea what the hell you’re talking
about, but then…you never did make much sense did you?’
‘Come off it Elliott, Hackett’s restaurant was blown to bits and you’re the only
idiot I know who has a garage full of grenades, we’re all running around blaming a
psychotic copper and all the time it was fucking you…’
‘Whatever you say Donohue,’ Elliott laughed before he hung up.
‘Who was that?’ Elliott’s companion asked as he sat in the armchair
thoughtfully.
‘Listen I have to go to that shithole “Frank’s Palace” I’ll be back soon.’
he grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the living room.
Donohue put his phone back in his pocket and rushed out to the bar to
approach Mason; he pulled him to one side, speaking quietly.
‘I need a favour, Lenny, do you have a piece I could borrow?’ Mason looked
puzzled.
‘Yeah but I thought you already had a gun, what’s going on now Tom?’
‘I’ve got a gun, but I might need more than six shots just to be on the safe side.
Please don’t ask questions, I’ve got to be somewhere pretty fucking soon,’ Donohue
patted his Smith & Wesson under his shirt reassuringly. Mason opened his jacket and
pulled out a huge Desert Eagle 357 Mark VII, and handed it to his friend.
‘Look after that Tommy, I won it in a card game a few months ago, It’s only
been used once so it should have eight rounds left in it.’ Donohue inspected the
magazine for confirmation. The rest of the pub still had their attention fixed on the
TV.
‘What’s happening, Tom?’ Dawn asked as she came towards them. He quickly
hid the gun in his waistband before turning to face her.
‘Listen babe, I’ve got to go, there’s something I have to do.’
This time Dawn had tears in her eyes.
‘I know you do love, but promise me one thing Tommy…please come
back…please.’ She threw her arms around him and he returned the gesture, but it was
difficult considering the bulkiness of the two lethal handguns tucked into his belt.
‘I love you,’ she whispered in his ear. They looked deeply into each other’s
eyes for a long moment before they kissed.
‘I love you,’ she repeated before he pulled away and turned back to Mason.
‘Just make sure I have a double Jameson waiting on the bar for me when I get
back.’ He noticed the anxious look on his friend’s face.
‘Take care of her mate, she’s one in a million, and I promise I won’t be long.’
Mason followed him to the exit.
‘Are you sure you don’t need any help mate?’ he asked as he stepped outside.
‘This is something I have to deal with in my own way, Len…this is personal.
Just stay here and look after the best lady in the world until I get back.’
He brushed the snow from the windscreen of the BMW before he set off.
56 -- HE MAKES KENNEDY’S ASSASSINATION
SEEM PALE BY COMPARISON
Donohue decided to chance the Tyne bridge, hoping it wouldn’t be cordoned off; the
high level bridge was momentarily out of bounds for traffic. The further along the
bridge he drove, the louder the screaming sirens became.
‘Shit that’s all I fucking need…I don’t have time for this crap.’ He put his foot
down and sped onwards when he noticed the police gauntlet at the north side of the
bridge. The speedometer hit seventy as he smashed through the barrier and knocked
two patrol cars out of the way, spinning them round almost 90 degrees. He nearly lost
control but he kept his foot down. The back window imploded, the bullets from armed
police narrowly missed his head as they exited through the windscreen, but luckily the
glass stayed intact.
‘Fucking hell man,’ he screamed at nobody in particular. He felt the car jerk as
the back right tyre was shot out.
‘I don’t fucking believe this, not now please,’ he seethed as he desperately
tried to control the vehicle. He knew he needed a different car if he was going to make
it all the way to Elswick, but the area was deserted save for the odd ambulance or
patrol car.
He suddenly slammed into somebody at such speed that the already
damaged bonnet became loose and finally dislodged itself, exposing the bare engine.
The impact caused the cracked windscreen to implode, pelting his face with cubes of
glass.
‘Shit.’ he shouted as the lifeless body tumbled over the roof of the car like a
clumsy mannequin. Wind and snow now made his eyes water as once more he tried in
vain to keep control. He decided to stop off at his house – if it was still standing. He
thought maybe the trouble hadn’t spread as far as Gosforth.
The housing estates were also deserted and he couldn’t understand why; then
realisation hit him: everybody was in the city amidst the chaos. He thought it ironic
that the born and bred fools were destroying their own beloved domain.
The perilous journey had taken almost forty-minutes and Mason’s BMW was
an absolute wreck by the time he’d reached his home. Plumes of steam from the
engine, together with the downpour of snow began to impair his vision almost to the
point of blindness for the last half-mile.
He pulled up on the pavement outside his house, turned off the engine and sat
with his eyes closed for a couple of minutes breathing deeply. When he opened them
he glanced at his watch, it was almost 5:15pm so he clambered from the car,
inspecting the damage.
‘Sorry Lenny mate, I’ll buy you a new one some day…I promise.’ He opened
the garden gate and unlocked his garage. He turned on the light; his eyes scanned the
shelves until he found a heavy crowbar with which to prise off the board that covered
the front door. When he entered, he noticed the place was in an appalling state – he
hadn’t bothered to check it since the police raid some weeks earlier. He ignored the
mess and made straight for his beloved music room. The padlock was smashed and
the door was ajar; the room was in disarray but nothing seemed to be damaged.
‘The fucking bastard coppers, they did this on purpose,’ he snarled before he
rushed into the kitchen, which was also in disorder. Why can’t they be a bit more
considerate? he thought as he opened the fridge. He was surprised to find two cans of
Scrumpy Jack, he couldn’t remember if there was any left. He grabbed one, opened it
and downed almost half in one large gulp. He glanced at his watch again, it was 5:20
and he knew he should get ready so he quickly finished off the cider. He wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand before he rushed upstairs to his bedroom. He
rummaged through his wardrobe until he found his thick black leather bike jacket and
hastily changed into it. He also decided to swap his worn jeans for his tight black
leather ones. He then pulled on a pair of black heavy buckled bike boots over the top
of his leather padded jeans before he rushed back outside and into the garage.
He opened a box in the corner and pulled out a black Caberg Downtown S
helmet. Inside the helmet was a pair of thick leather gloves. He pulled the helmet over
his head, fastening it quickly before he donned the gloves. He stared lovingly at his
black and chrome Harley-Davidson Softail Deluxe FLSTN for a few moments before
he pulled out the two guns and placed them in one of the panniers. He sat on the bike
and turned the key in the ignition; it roared tunefully into life.
‘Let’s rock and roll,’ he shouted triumphantly before he closed his visor and
steered the monstrous machine out of the garage, not bothering to close the door.
The digital display told him it was almost 5:30 so he decided to keep to the
deserted housing estates to ensure a safe journey towards Elswick. Snow was still
falling and he was grateful it wasn’t too deep, but he knew it would still prove
difficult on his chopper. He briefly thought of his previous hazardous trip – if he
managed that, he could do anything.
The deep humming of the air cooled, V-twin 4-stroke engine was music to his
ears as he cruised along at between forty and fifty mph. He loved nothing better than
cruising for miles in all weather. All his troubles seem to vanish when he was
controlling his pride and joy – not on this day though, for he knew that very soon,
there would be a make or break situation. Hopefully the final one.
It was almost 5:50 when he reached the car park of “Frank’s Palace”. He
climbed from the bike and removed his helmet, shaking his thick hair loose. He
looked a few feet to his left and did a double-take; he was sure he recognised the
black Fiat Punto – it belonged to Alan Elliott. He ventured closer, the driver’s window
had a hole in it the size of a coin. Donohue peered through. Slumped across the two
front seats was Alan Elliott. He had a small hole in his right temple, but the left side
of his head was obliterated. Pieces of brain tissue mixed with thick scarlet liquid,
which already seemed to be congealing on the insides of the car were splattered
everywhere. He opened the door cautiously, the smell of excrement and death hit him
unexpectedly. He clasped his hand over his mouth and turned away sharply, grabbing
the top of the car door for support.

‘Jesus Fucking Christ Almighty,’ he gasped as he bent double, almost
retching. A terrifying thought suddenly came to him: Is Elliott really who Hackett’s
looking for? Maybe he turned up unexpectedly and Hackett shot him point blank, not
knowing who he was. After all, Hackett may never have met him before.
With determination, he turned back to the car and rifled through Elliott’s
pockets. He pulled out two Pearl fragmentation grenades and quickly pocketed them.
‘I fucking knew it,’ he mumbled as he continued to search him. He thought his
heart had stopped when he found his Glock 17 still in Elliott’s grip. He held it in front
of him between thumb and forefinger in bewilderment.
‘My fucking gun,’ he whispered in astonishment as he stood upright; it was
then he heard and felt something whistle past his left ear by inches. The metallic
sound behind him was startling as the high velocity bullet hit Elliott’s car. Donohue
leant forward; his eyes took a while to adjust through the flakes of snow; then he saw
it: a shadow across the road in an upstairs window of a boarded-up house. He dived to
the ground just as another bullet whizzed past to rebound off the brick wall of the pub.
He suddenly felt lonely and vulnerable. He waited a moment before he scrambled to
his feet and raced to the other side of the Punto for protection. He stole another quick
glance at his watch, it was 5:54. Ever-lasting seconds passed him by while he decided
what to do next.
He thought he heard a car engine, but put it down to the wind mixed with
distant explosions. He raised his head slightly, listening intently…he heard it again
becoming louder, it was definitely a car approaching. He peered through the
bloodstained window. A yellow SAAB 9-3 pulled into the car park – it was Mickey
Bennett’s car. He parked round the back of the pub, well out of range of the sniper.
He climbed out of his car, looking all around the car park baffled until his eyes fell on
Donohue; he began to stroll briskly towards him.
‘Mickey, stay where you are, there’s somebody across the road with a rifle,
and I think it has a silencer on it.’
‘Long time, no see, Tommy mate,’ Bennett said cheerfully as he continued
onwards.
‘Jesus Mickey…get back,’ Donohue shouted before another bullet hit the
Punto loudly. Instinctively, Bennett ran back to safety. He stood with his back pressed
firmly against the wall.
‘Who the fuck’s that?’ He sounded shocked and angry.
‘It’s some arsehole taking pot-shots and I don’t think he’s out clay pigeon
shooting either. Alan Elliott, my girlfriend’s…ex-girlfriend’s brother or what’s left of
him is in there,’ Donohue pointed to the Punto he was crouching behind.
‘What’s up with him…is he dead?’
‘Well put it this way, Mickey mate, he makes Kennedy’s assassination seem
pale by comparison. We’re hemmed in and the door is too far away, we’ll be cut
down before we reach it. I’ve even got two magnums on the bike, but that’s even
further away.
‘Do you have any guns on you?’ Bennett asked. Donohue held up the bloody
Glock 17, he quickly released the magazine to check the ammo and noticed that there
were only fourteen rounds left since he owned it – three must have been fired.
‘Mickey mate…I know this is going to sound bloody stupid, but…do you
have
a gun?’ Donohue was amazed and relieved when Bennett pulled out two C-96 Mauser
automatic pistols, each containing a twenty-round magazine. He tucked one away.
‘Tommy I wouldn’t trust this fat cunt as far as I can piss. I knew the bastard
was going to pull something like this. If you can manage to cover me with what you
have on you, I can dodge across the street and take the prick out.’
Donohue stared in awe, he’d never even fired a gun before and Bennett
noticed his anguish.
‘Tommy man…it’s our only chance, now I’ll count to three and that’s it. Then
you start blazing away at the twat while I try and pay him a visit.’
Donohue shook his head.
‘You always were a mad bastard Mickey, I’ll do my best.’
‘Make sure you do your utmost Tommy, because I want to get in there and see
what Hackett has to say about this, and sometime tonight, not in the next century.’
‘Take this with you, it might help,’ Donohue said, tossing one of the grenades
towards Bennett who caught it with his left hand.
‘Where the fuck did this come from?’
‘Never mind that now, just get over there at the count of three.’ Donohue
aimed the Glock towards the sniper and squeezed off three rounds in succession while
Bennett’s spindly frame sprinted across the street, expertly dodging bullets as though
he’d done the same thing countless times before. Donohue fired three more rounds as
Bennett reach the garden gate and vaulted it, rushing towards the house. The sniper’s
vantage point was now useless as Bennett was directly below him. He paused for a
moment before rushing to the back of the house, Mauser in his right hand, grenade in
his left. The board had been ripped from the back door, which was wide open; he
slowly and cautiously edged towards it. He waited for ages before he crept inside. The
place was in total darkness and he briefly contemplated using his lighter as a torch,
but decided against it in case it gave his position away. He crept along the hall,
grateful that the ground floor was concrete. He cringed when he stepped on a
fragment of broken glass, the sound was deafening in the dark silence. He remained
motionless for almost a minute, listening intently.
He heard something at the top of the stairs…floorboards creaking…footsteps.
By now his eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, so he peered through the
banister rails, straining his neck muscles to look upwards – he still didn’t dare lift his
foot from the glass. He blinked hard a few times until he was sure that he noticed a
figure on the top stair. With extreme difficulty, he swapped his grenade to his right
hand, almost dropping his Mauser in the process. He mentally counted to ten before
running to the foot of the stairs, pulling the pin and hurling the grenade upwards. He
almost clasped his hands over his ears, but the thumping sound stopped him, it was
getting louder – the grenade was bouncing back down the stairs towards him. He tried
to run, but tripped, landing face-down a second before the explosion tore through the
middle of the staircase.
The sniper fell forward clumsily and grabbed the banister rail to halt his
descent, but that too collapsed.
Bennett felt an unbearable searing pain in his right thigh as shrapnel pierced
his muscle. He tried to get to his feet but the intensity of his agony meant he had to
crawl through rubble and debris, (even small fires) to reach the back door. Black
smoke was everywhere and the stench was overpowering.
When he eventually reached the doorstep, he gasped in as much fresh winter
air as possible.
He lay with his face pressed into the deepening snow for almost two-minutes
until he heard a grunting sound behind him. His head lifted abruptly when he heard
shuffling sounds, pieces of wood being scattered around…now an angry voice.
‘You’re fucking dead whoever you are you piece of shit,’ the words behind
him made him scramble to his feet despite his injury. He tried to dive, but tripped
instead, landing awkwardly. He was face-down in the snow again.
It was a while before he managed to focus on his present predicament. He
quickly rolled onto his back just in time to see the sniper staggering towards the front
door through the rubble strewn hallway. He was a large bearded man carrying a
Finish-made Sako TRG-22, he operated the bolt action mechanism to chamber
another round and pointed it directly at him, Bennett also pointed his Mauser towards
the sniper; instead of pausing, he fired ten shots into the sniper’s chest. Blood flew
everywhere as the rounds pierced his lungs and heart; he was dead before he hit the
floor.
Bennett painfully pulled himself to his feet and limped back across the road.
‘You can come out now Tommy, I’ve turned the fucker into Swiss cheese.’
‘Who the fuck was it…Hackett? And what the hell was that massive bang?’
Donohue noticed his dishevelled and blackened state.
‘It wasn’t Hackett, that’s not his style, but it looks like the bastard’s intention
was to have us both killed before we even got to the pub,’ Bennett grimaced and
clutched his right leg.
‘What happened to you, he didn’t shoot you did he?’ Donohue asked as he
rushed towards his Harley to retrieve his guns.
‘I didn’t get shot, I bloody blew myself up by accident didn’t I. One way or
another Tommy, we’ve got to see Hackett, which means we’re going into the pub, and
somehow I don’t think those bullets were the last surprise in store for us tonight, so be
on your guard. By the way, don’t try and use that grenade inside because it won’t do
any fucking good, and get this Tommy…the bastard’s mine.’ They looked into each
other’s eyes for a moment before moving towards the side door.
‘Let’s just do it,’ Donohue seethed. Bennett tied his hair in a ponytail.
57 -- IT’S WHAT MAKES THE WORLD GO
ROUND
The place was in semi-darkness. The only source of light emanated from two small
lamps at two corners of the bar. Chairs were meticulously placed atop tables as
though a maid was still busy with the vacuum cleaner.
‘What do you think?’ Bennett whispered. Donohue put his finger to his lips
before he whispered a reply.
‘I think we should get upstairs to his office and hope the bastard is shitting
himself.’ They crept forward until they reached the foot of the wide staircase. Bennett
placed his left foot on the first stair and a wave of fresh pain swept up his leg;
Donohue grabbed his arm.
‘Mickey…stay perfectly still.’ His ally stared back painfully bemused.
Donohue whispered again.
‘I thought…I’m sure I heard something…’
‘Like what?’ Donohue put his finger to his lips again.
‘Shhhhhhhhh…listen…’ They stood as still as statues, straining to hear
any alien sounds in the dark stillness – it seemed that the only noise was their heavy
breathing. They remained perfectly still for at least another twenty-seconds and
listened with extreme prejudice. Then they both heard it, a shuffling sound to their
right. Bennett pulled out his other Mauser while Donohue decided to keep one hand
free and slowly pulled back the hammer on the Smith & Wesson. This time they both
distinctly heard the sound of a round being chambered. Instinctively, Bennett sprayed
the area with eight shots from his first Mauser, the sound was deafening and the flash
from the muzzle temporarily lit up the bar. There was a curse, and a brief cry of pain
followed by a loud crash as the invisible adversary flew back against a table,
knocking the chairs to the floor; the strong stench of cordite hung heavy in the air.
They waited a moment before rushing towards their felled victim and Bennett almost
tripped over the large bulk of the gunman who lay sprawled on his back – he was still
alive. Three of the bullets had struck him in his upper torso, puncturing both his lungs.
He coughed painfully, and blood mixed with mucus sprayed into the air.
‘Where’s Hackett?’ Donohue growled. The heavy-set man in his thirties tried
to speak but the only sound that escaped his lips was a loud gasp as more blood
sprayed from his lips. Bennett kicked him in the ribs, ignoring the pain in his leg.
‘You heard the man, where’s Hackett?’ It was a while before he was able to
reply, and when he did, it was a mere wheeze.
‘In his…office…he’s…’
‘Thank you,’ Bennett said pleasantly before he fired the last two bullets into
his face, killing him instantly. Donohue wasn’t amused.
‘Mickey you prat, he could’ve told us if anybody else was here.’
‘Let’s just get up to the bastard’s office and finish him off once and for all,’
Bennett whispered harshly, heading back towards the staircase. They began to ascend
once more but halfway up, the sudden booming from the jukebox stopped them in
their tracks. The song was Tragedy by the Bee Gees. They remained motionless. The
music was so loud that they didn’t hear the pounding paws of the twelve-stone
Rottweiler as it bounded down the stairs with speed and agility that bellied its size. It
leapt at Bennett knocking him backwards, he tried to grab the banister for support but
the darkness and disorientation took over – he tumbled to the bottom to land on his
back painfully. The fierce dog was upon him in no time, causing him to drop his gun.
The beast tried to go for his throat but Bennett managed to grab its thick leather
studded collar and keep the vicious jaws away from his face. Donohue kicked it as
hard as he could over and over, but it seemed oblivious to the pain it should be
feeling.
‘Fucking hell Tommy, shoot the bastard thing,’ He screamed a split second
after its powerful jaws sank into his left shoulder. Donohue didn’t dare risk firing
blindly in the darkness in case he hit Bennett by mistake. He hastily tucked his gun
into his waistband and grabbed the nearest chair with which to repeatedly smash the
dog over its back, but it still proved fruitless as the razor-sharp teeth sank ever deeper
into flesh and muscle, shaking its head from side-to-side. The chair crashed down one
final time, two of the wooden legs splintering with the force, causing the dog to
release its grip temporarily. It backed off and it was the chance that Donohue needed.
He discarded the broken chair and pulled out his Smith & Wesson just as the dog bit
into Bennett’s ankle; he omitted a scream even louder than the song on the jukebox.
Donohue fired once hitting the dog in the hind quarters, it yelped in pain and released
its grip before focusing on Donohue, baring bloody teeth. Despite the dog’s injury it
lunged for him. Donohue shot it in the head, killing it instantly. It lay twitching in a
spreading pool of blood. Eventually Bennett got to his feet, his pain
overshadowed by his anger, he began to kick and stamp on the dead dog until
Donohue pulled him away.
The song was still playing on the jukebox in the far corner much to their
bemusement and annoyance. Donohue pulled out the Pearl fragmentation grenade,
pulled the pin and tossed it towards the source of the irritating noise. They both
scrambled to the other side of the staircase for cover, crouching with their hands
clasped over their heads.
The explosion ripped through the bar area throwing shrapnel and splintered
debris in all directions. The whole structure of the detached building shook violently
as windows were blown out to invite the perilous coldness inside. By now, the wind
had picked up again. Snowflakes entered the pub through the broken windows like
swarms of moths to a flame, except that there was no flame, it was even darker now
that the lamps and dull light from the jukebox had been blown to oblivion.
Donohue used to quite like the song he’d just destroyed, but he knew that
whenever he heard it from now on, it would be a reminder of this fateful night. He
turned to Bennett but his eyes couldn’t yet penetrate the new-fangled darkness he’d
created.
‘Are you okay, Mate?’ he asked with concern in his voice. There was a
shuffling sound followed by a distinctive metallic clank; Bennett had lit his Zippo in
an attempt to penetrate the gloom.
‘Don’t worry about me Tom lad, I’ll be as right as rain…I have to go and find
my…other gun though because this bastard thing is empty,’ he grunted painfully as he
got to his feet.
Hackett’s voice suddenly boomed from hidden speakers.
‘Remember boys…respect…that’s what it’s all about boys…good old
fashioned respect. It’s an extremely important commodity in life…it’s what keeps
your head above water…it’s what keeps everybody in business…it’s what makes the
world go round.’ Then it was silent.
Bennett retrieved the Mauser and for the third time, they slowly made their
way up the stairs. When they reached Hackett’s office they hesitated.
‘What now?’ Donohue whispered. Instead of answering, Bennett turned the
door handle and rushed inside followed by Donohue. The room was in semi-darkness
and there was no sign of Hackett. The door suddenly slammed shut behind
them
‘Drop your guns,’ Hackett said loudly, before he moved forward and headed
for the window, pointing his Beretta 92F mm at them.
‘Very slowly, kick the guns towards me,’ Hackett ordered smugly.
‘Listen Hackett, the culprit responsible for this mayhem is outside in his car
with no head left, courtesy of your mad sniper friend across the street,’ Donohue said,
kicking the guns towards Hackett, which landed a few inches in front of him. Hackett
cleared his throat.
‘You seem to be forgetting one important detail my old sons’, I still have
scores to settle with both of you, so if I was you, I’d forget about Johnson for the time
being…’
‘Well that’s where you’re wrong because Johnson has nothing to do with
this…it’s not even him who’s outside,’ Bennett cut in, grimacing in pain with the
effort. Hackett frowned.
‘Well who the hell is outside then? It has to be Johnson, everything points to
him.’
‘If you must know it’s Cath’s brother Alan Elliott, He had two grenades on
him and a hand gun of mine which he stole from my house weeks ago,’ Donohue
blurted, leaning against the wall. Hackett’s frown deepened.
‘How the hell do I know it’s not one of you two responsible for feebly
attempting to destroy my kingdom? For all I know, you could’ve been working
together.’
When Bennett spoke, there was anger in his voice.
‘Oh come off it, Hackett, try taking your head out of the clouds for two
-minutes and listen to reason, you know for a fact that none of us are responsible for
any of this. You’re just sore because we wouldn’t agree to your ridiculous demands.’
Hackett began to pace the small area in front of the window.
‘You know you don’t get anywhere in this life without respect, I’m a well
respected figure and…’
Bennett interrupted him.
‘Fuck you Hackett, if everybody respected you like you say, then why do have
a hidden safe in this office containing videos of all your dodgy meetings with most of
the bent coppers in this city? You don’t respect them, and they don’t respect you.’
Hackett glanced at the bloody and dishevelled state of Bennett. He was holding a
severely damaged shoulder, and he seemed to have trouble standing.

‘Now that’s the second time you’ve interrupted me old son,’ Hackett said
quietly before he squeezed the trigger of the Beretta, the hollow-tipped bullet caught
Bennett in the face, leaving a terrible exit wound in the back of his head. He went
down. Donohue rushed to his aid knowing that it was too late.
‘You fucking maniac, what the hell is that going to achieve?’ he screamed at
Hackett.
‘I wouldn’t worry about him, Tom old son; he was just a scumbag anyway.
Now what have you done to the big fella, where is he?’ The door suddenly crashed
open, startling both of them. Detective Inspector Tony Johnson stood menacingly in
the doorway before moving forward. His grin was evil.
‘Drop your gun, Hackett, or I shoot you where you stand,’ Johnson grunted
through clenched teeth as though he was in acute pain. Hackett complied without
hesitation.
‘Get in that corner,’ he gestured towards Donohue with an automatic pistol.
Donohue tried to get a closer look at the gun, but the poor light restricted his vision. A
thought suddenly entered his head: what if Elliott had stolen his guns but never
actually got around to actually using them? After all, the police and media hadn’t
disclosed the type of weapons used – why would they? Another question baffled him:
why had three rounds been fired if he hadn’t used it?
‘Well isn’t this cosy? This is going to be easier than I thought, I get to kill two
bastards with one stone,’ Johnson rasped sarcastically. Donohue was dumbfounded.
‘So you’re the culprit behind all this killing?’
Johnson glared at him menacingly for a moment.
‘Well that’s for me to know, you pair of bloody idiots. You’re so fucking
dumb Donohue that you haven’t even noticed I’ve been watching your every move
for weeks, and I bet nobody has a clue where I’ve been hiding.’
‘Go on then Mr invisible, put us out of our misery,’ Donohue replied rolling
his eyes.
‘Well it’s quite simple, I’ve been living in my car ever since Hackett the
coward here sent some psychos round to my house last month and turned the place
into fucking Afghanistan.’
Johnson looked as though he was at deaths door, his tall frame looked even
taller due to his weight loss, and his grey complexion had taken on a sickly yellow
pallor since the last time he’d seen him and he had a thick beard. He focused his
attention on Hackett, grinning maliciously.
‘So how does it feel to know that your wife was blown away in cold blood you
twat? It’s what you did to my kids isn’t it, you murdering bastards?’ Hackett moved
forward.
‘Listen to me you disrespectful arsehole; nobody blew away your kids. Don’t
you forget, this prick sold them dodgy ecstasy tablets,’ he seethed pointing towards
Donohue. Johnson aimed the gun at the computer monitor on Hackett’s desk and
squeezed the trigger, the sound was deafening as it shattered into pieces, forcing
Hackett back towards the window.
‘Because of the filth you peddle on the streets, my son and daughter are dead
and my wife left me, because for some reason, she blamed me. Now it’s your turn you
bastards.’ He pointed the gun at Hackett, but doubled over in pain, coughing and
spluttering before he could fire again, but he kept the gun as steady as he could.
Donohue was about to pull the Desert Eagle free when a tall figure appeared behind
Johnson, dressed in bloodstained blue overalls, the face was hidden behind a ski
mask.
‘Put the fucking gun down, this is my fucking show now,’ the newcomer
ordered quietly in muffled speech, pressing a 12-gauge Bignotti sawn-off shotgun to
the back of the Inspector’s head. Johnson tossed the gun to the floor. His expression
suddenly changed from smugness and pain to surprise.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ Hackett asked in confusion as the figure roughly
pushed Johnson into the office almost causing him to lose his balance.
‘I’m the Avenging Angel and I’ve come here to take your life.’
Donohue was almost sure the voice sounded familiar, but the words were
purposely spoken quietly and muffled in order to disguise the perpetrator. Hackett
spoke and he seemed unusually calm under the circumstances.
‘So if you’re the maniac who killed my wife and my triplet brothers, the least
you can do is show yourself, because I’m getting sick of this bullshit now.’ There was
silence for almost a minute until slowly, the mysterious opponent pulled the ski mask
free and tossed it aside. Donohue almost had a seizure as Cath Elliott shook her
blonde hair free and glared at him expressionless. She turned to Johnson and then
Hackett before she spoke.
‘After all this time…all these killings, now it’ll probably be the biggest anti-
climax of all, don’t you think…now you’re all mine Frank “The Hatchet” Hackett.’
Donohue tried to speak.
‘C…C…Cath…you…you’re d…dead, but how come…?’
She faced him sharply.
‘You’re right Tom, I am dead. I’ve been dead ever since my boys were
murdered by your fucking scumbag friend. The police don’t usually look for dead
murderers so why do you think I got away with it so easily?’ she turned her attention
back to Hackett.
‘Now it’s your turn you piece of shit.’
Donohue spoke again.
‘Wait…wait a minute…this d…doesn’t make any sense, where the hell have
you been? I mean…what about killing yourself by…’
‘I didn’t jump off any cliff you ignoramus; I fooled the bloody lot of you…
I’ve been living with my brother since the funeral. Even my mother didn’t
know anything about it, and she still doesn’t and that’s the way I want it to stay.’
Donohue noticed tears in her eyes. He spoke calmly.
‘So how the hell did your Mother manage to identify your body? Who’s body
was it?’
‘Well Tommy, the woman she identified was my first victim. I drove around
the city centre for hours searching for somebody of my height, same colour hair and
eventually I struck lucky. I smashed her head in with a crowbar, put her in the boot
and drove to Whitburn cliffs.’
Donohue was almost sick.
‘But I still wasn’t finished, I had to take the lower part of her face off so there
were no teeth or dental records to link me to the corpse. As for my Mother identifying
me…use your fucking head man, I put my clothes and jewellery on the body. It’s not
like I have any distinguishing features or birthmarks…and luckily neither did the
victim.’
Donohue was still unsatisfied.
‘So how come your brother had my gun? Somebody broke into my house
weeks ago and stole my shotgun (which you have), and the gun that your brother had
when I found him outside.’ Cath’s eyes darted around the room as though searching
for a reasonable answer.

‘I took your guns Tommy…me, because I wanted to shoot Frank fucking
Hackett so badly, that I almost had an extreme orgasm at the very thought of it. I gave
Alan your handgun tonight because he only has a replica and I thought he might need
some back-up.’ She turned her attention towards Hackett again.
‘I borrowed my brother’s car every time he was out drinking or working the
night shift so I could seek out all your pathetic friends and family you fucking arse
wipe, I found out from Johnny Skinner that you’d pissed off to America, so I thought
I’d play the same game you normally do, and kill the people closest to you.’
‘How come you managed to get here then…without transport?’ Johnson
asked.
‘Well if you must know, I happened to pay a taxi driver most handsomely for
the journey. You see…there are ways and means of getting things done.’ She glanced
down at Bennett’s corpse before she continued; her voice was now cracked with
emotion.
‘My boys…you killed them for no reason, and they were my whole life you
bastard. After I kill you, I don’t have anything left.’
Johnson suddenly cut in again.
‘Miss Elliott, I’m on your side. I don’t think the bastard should live for another
second, let alone…’
‘Get back, just stay the fuck away from me or you’ll die before him,’ she
seethed as she wiped her eyes with her free hand. Johnson moved closer though.
‘I said back off…now,’ she screamed which startled the detective. He
stumbled backwards awkwardly, involuntarily falling into the nearest chair. She
didn’t notice that his gun was beneath the chair in which he’d fallen into. Johnson
realised this though – he waited for his chance. She leaned against the doorframe and
spoke again, more calmly this time; her eyes were constantly brimming with tears,
which she wiped away with her free hand at every opportunity.
‘You know, all I’ve ever wanted was a happy family life…maybe marriage
one day, but I didn’t realise how difficult it could be. I mean look at my ex-boyfriend
here…one minute he says he wants to marry me, the next minute he’s fucking my
brother’s girlfriend behind my back. While we’re on the subject, why is he dead
outside, who killed him?’
‘It was some sniper hired by Hackett, he’s dead now though because he shot
him.’ Donohue said pointing to Bennett’s corpse.
Cath continued.
‘You just don’t know when to stop do you Hackett? You know it felt so good
when I walked away from your restaurant when it blew to bits behind me. I don’t
even know if Alan knew any of his grenades were missing at first…I don’t suppose
I’ll ever know now because it’s your fault he’s dead Hackett. Just look at you, the
scariest man in Newcastle…Christ I’m more scared of scalding myself in the kitchen
than I am of you.’
Donohue spoke quietly, but forcefully.
‘Cath, you’re not a killer for God’s sake.’ She turned her attention to him and
that was the chance Johnson needed, he retrieved his gun from beneath the chair.
Hackett also dropped to the floor, picked up his Beretta and stayed behind his desk,
knowing that she only had two shells in the shotgun. She noticed the sudden
movement from the two men but it was too late. A bullet from Johnson caught her in
the side a split second before she discharged both cartridges, hitting Johnson in the
leg, shattering his kneecap. He screamed in agony and fired again, but this time
missed his target and destroyed a picture on the wall inches to her right. She tried her
best to ignore the pain in her ruptured pancreas and tried to reload the shotgun, but
dropped a handful of shells to the floor. By now Donohue pulled the Desert Eagle
free, screaming at the detective who was about to shoot again. He fired two rounds at
Johnson, hitting him below the rib cage, destroying his liver; the third bullet caught
him in the side of the head, blowing most of his face away.
Hackett was already on his feet pumping off three rounds in succession
towards Cath, but they missed as she bent to retrieve the dropped shells. She quickly
reloaded and stood upright blasting away at Hackett. The first shot caught him in his
left forearm, the second missed – her gun was empty again. Hackett shot her in the
abdomen splattering the wall behind with her insides, but before he got the chance to
fire again, Donohue pumped off four rounds from the Desert Eagle hitting him in the
chest, the force knocked him back against the window and his heavy weight smashed
one of the grimy panes. He dropped the Beretta but not before he fired a round that
nicked Donohue’s right upper arm, his thick leather jacket took most of the damage.
The air in the office was now thick with smoke, and the stench of cordite was
overpowering. Donohue rushed over to Hackett wondering why he was laughing and
not yet dead. He stood above him pointing the Desert Eagle inches from his head,
kicking the Mauser, Smith & Wesson and Beretta away from his reach. Hackett stared
up at him grinning, he suddenly ripped open his shirt to reveal a Ballistic (ALP-R1P-
3A) bullet-proof vest.
‘I’ve got a good mind to take your head clean off here and now Hackett, you
fucking waste of space.’
Hackett’s grin widened.
‘But I know you only too well Tommy, you haven’t got the bottle old son.’
‘Oh I’ve got the bottle all right, Hackett, now get on your feet and open the
safe.’ When Hackett refused to move, Donohue kicked him in the face breaking his
nose.
‘Now that wasn’t very nice was it Tom my old son? I thought you said you
were a pacifist.’
‘Sometimes Hackett, exceptions have to be made, now fucking move it or I
swear on your dead mother’s life I’ll change my mind and blow you away.’ Donohue
pointed the Magnum at his groin.
‘I’m going to count to five and your bollocks will go first, then both of
your feet…believe me Hackett, your death will be slow and very painful.’ By the time
Donohue got to three; Hackett grimaced and got to his feet.
‘All right, all right have it your way.’ He clutched his chest for a moment,
which was extremely painful from the impact of the Magnum rounds. The wound in
his forearm didn’t seem to bother him much though. He opened a nearby door, which
was disguised as a bookcase and turned the dial several times until there was a click
and a heavy thick metal door opened. Hackett began to speak, but Donohue smashed
the gun heavily onto the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.
Donohue turned on the main light before rifling through the desk drawers until
by chance he found a torch and the VCR, which connected to the security camera in
the corner. He wrenched the cassette from the machine before returning to the safe; he
turned on the torch and stared in amazement at the interior of the steel room.
Countless bundles of money adorned the shelves. There was also a large assortment of
firearms and ammunition as well as dozens of videocassettes and micro tapes, each
clearly labelled. He picked up a few for and read the labels.
‘Jesus, Bennett wasn’t kidding,’ he whispered to himself. He turned

around startled when he heard a groaning sound, and it didn’t come from Hackett.
He crept towards the desk, listening carefully. He heard it again; it was Cath Elliott,
she was still leaning against the wall where she’d fell earlier. He hurried towards her.
‘Cath, you…you’re still alive. Try not to move and I’ll get some help.’ He
straightened up but she grabbed his hand weakly, pulling him towards her. Her broken
words were barely whispers.
‘T…Tom…like I said…earlier, I’m already d…dead and…’
‘Look pet, just hang on and I’ll call an ambulance.’ He knew deep down that
his own words were shallow because he could see that she’d lost endless pints of
blood, and her insides were destroyed. He also knew that because the present state the
city was in, an ambulance would never arrive even if he managed to get through to the
emergency services, and he probably wouldn’t. She spoke again and a thick trickle of
blood ran down her chin.
‘How…why d…did it get…to this Tom, we…we were happy
enough…w…weren’t we?’
Tears welled up in Donohue’s eyes as he squeezed her bloodied hand.
‘I’m really sorry about everything Cath, I truly am, if I could turn the clock
back…’
‘Goodbye Tom…I…I’ll always love you…but n…now you have a…a chance
of…a fresh start with D…Dawn, so grab it…with b…both hands and try not…to mess
it…up...like you usually do.’ She laughed weakly.
‘I’ll never forget you Cath for as long as I live and for what it’s worth, I can
promise you one thing…Frank Hackett won’t get away with any of this, none of them
will; I’ll make damn sure they suffer. They’re all living on borrowed time.’
A strained smile creased her bloodied lips.

‘You…know s…something Tom…I don’t feel any…pain…’
He wiped away the tears from his eyes.
‘Cath babe, I’m here for you, don’t worry I’ll take care of things.’
‘Do your…b…best, and you…and Dawn…have my blessing if it means
a…anything. My quest is finished…I…I’m going to see…see my boys now…take
care…’ They were her last words before her head lolled to one side and her eyes
stared lifelessly into space, she was gone. He closed her eyes, gently kissed her
forehead and began to sob.
After a few minutes he walked over to Hackett’s unconscious bulk.
‘All the trouble you’ve caused everybody, all the destruction you’ve left in
your wake you miserable evil bastard,’ he seethed. He wiped more tears away from
his eyes, the pain in his arm forgotten about for the time being. He contemplated
putting a bullet in Hackett’s worthless brain here and now, but he had a better idea.
He pulled himself together and reached into his pocket for his mobile to call Lenny
Mason.
‘Is everything okay Len mate? How’s Dawn?’
‘Everything’s fine Tom, how are you?’
‘I’m okay, I’ll be a while though because there’s a few loose ends I have to
tie up here first…oh and remember, that double Jameson I asked you to have waiting
for me on the bar, you’d better make it a quadruple. I tell you what Len…it’s been a
long cold winter, but things are about to heat up…watch this fucking space mate.’ He
put his phone away and searched around the office for something with which to tie up
Hackett. He would also need Bennett’s SAAB to return to his pub. He’d collect his
Harley later.
Donohue got to his knees before Hackett, and began to condemn his foe.
‘My God, look at you now you horrible fat cunt. You’re nothing, you’re just…
shite of the worse degree and I’m going to see to it that you suffer…mark my words
you’re finished you arsehole, by the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish you
could’ve had the best and most painless suicide in history…pain is your middle name
from now on you sadistic selfish bastard.’ He hawked loudly and spat in Hackett’s
unconscious face.
58 -- SHOCKED NATIONS
JULY 2006 SIX MONTHS LATER:
The riot had raged for almost five days and the clean-up operation that followed was
enormous. Even now the city was still a long way from being put right – it would
never be the same again, for the scars left behind were too deep-rooted ever to be
forgotten. The shop raids, the killing of the Elliot kids and murders of Hackett’s
associates, which had ironically helped to prompt the demonstration were forgotten
about and no longer important.
The news coverage was flashed around the world to shocked nations who
couldn’t comprehend how such destruction had occurred in modern-day idyllic

Britain. The exact death toll was still unclear but it bordered on thirteen hundred,
including police officers. There were thousands more injured, innocent and guilty
alike; hospitals and emergency services couldn’t cope. Even armed forces were called
in to help stem the flow of terrible chaos.
The cost to repair the devastation left behind ran into hundreds of millions,
which would come straight from the taxpayer’s pocket. With each passing hour,
smaller, copycat riots had erupted in other parts of the country: Sunderland;
Manchester; Liverpool; Sheffield; Birmingham; London, and they were all fuelled by
the same ingredients: anger and frustration against incompetent, negligent and corrupt
police forces.
Tommy Donohue had the last laugh in the end though, for the video cassettes
and micro tapes he’d taken from Hackett’s safe contained years of incriminating
evidence against the police force – and that evidence was overwhelming. All the
dubious and corrupt dealings that had taken place between most top-ranking officers,
and Frank Hackett and his crew in Frank’s Palace were caught on film. Drug deals;
protection rackets; money laundering; prostitution; arms smuggling; countless murder
conspiracies; jury fixing. It didn’t end there either. Detailed conversations about
various criminal activities were on the dozens of micro tapes, which Hackett had
recorded at various meetings across the city over the years with the help of his
concealed dictating machine. Scores of constables and court officials names were
implicated.
It seemed that Hackett thought he could use the videos and tapes to blackmail
police and officials in the future if he ever needed to. He also thought he could bring
everybody else down with him if his criminal lifestyle ever caught up with him, but
he’d only succeeded in digging his own grave. All his assets (including three-hundred
million pounds in various bank accounts) had been frozen.
Donohue had obtained a pair of handcuffs from the corpse of Detective Tony
Johnson to secure Hackett to the radiator in his office while he made several trips to
and from Bennett’s SAAB. He plundered the safe for bundles of evidence and money
and stuffed it into countless black refuse sacks, which he’d found in a cleaning
cupboard. All Hackett could do was watch powerlessly.
There was a hardly an inch of space left in the SAAB by the time it was
loaded to capacity with the contraband, and Donohue had great difficulty in driving
back to his pub by the time he was ready to leave.
They spent almost two weeks, sifting through the evidence and counting the
mountains of used, untraceable bank notes; the total figure eventually amounted to
fifteen million and seventy-six-thousand pounds. The huge bundle of evidence was
sent to the Independent Police Complaints Commission anonymously, prompting a
massive full-scale inquiry into police corruption, the largest of its kind Britain had
ever seen and it was a gargantuan embarrassment for the government. Every law
enforcement officer involved was investigated and put on trial, which still dragged on
– again at the expense of the taxpayer.
Judge Cecil Lonsdyke suffered a massive fatal heart attack a week before
he was to appear at Newcastle magistrates (his own courthouse). Superintendent Jack
Thornton was found hanging in the shower by his wife one morning; it seemed he’d
taken the easy way out. The ones left alive, including Chief Inspector Bob Carlton and
Detective Inspector Harry Williams knew they were to receive lengthy custodial
sentences along with countless more disgraced officers across the board. Williams
was now wheelchair bound since his heart attack months earlier, he couldn’t even
breathe without the aid of a ventilator. He couldn’t expect leniency because of his
ailing condition though. Even Sergeant Colin Davis was gladly taking the stand to
testify against them.
Donohue had become wealthy beyond his wildest dreams and in his own mind
he didn’t steal the money, he’d earned it. Cath had told him to make a fresh start with
her dying breath, and that’s exactly what he intended to do, he wouldn’t let anybody
or anything stand in his way this time – this was his second chance.
He gave Mason two-million and also handed The Lions Den over to his
faithful friend, but he’d declined saying that he wanted to retire and buy a house in
Northumberland to be near his sister, so the pub was put up for auction. Donohue also
gave him his beloved Harley Davidson as well as a brand new top-of-the-range BMW
like he promised. He even gave Davis a million so he could make a fresh start with his
son.
Donohue’s priority now was the future with his pregnant wife, Dawn
Donohue. They’d been married for almost two months and he was loving every
minute of it. She was due to have twins in October, the ultrasound told them they
were going to be parents to two boys and he’d never been happier in his life before.
They were emigrating to Portugal in a few days to reside in a hotel while they
searched for a villa, and he could hardly wait. His dream had finally come true.
EPILOGUE
NEWCASTLE AIRPORT:
‘Well this is it, Lenny mate, I’ll have to love you and leave you,’ Donohue said as he
and Dawn made for the check-in area.
‘Aren’t you even the least bit scared of getting on that plane?’ Mason asked
jokingly.
Donohue thought for a moment.
‘I remember what you told me when we were here the last time, you said that
there’s more car crashes than plane crashes.’
Mason smirked.
‘And you said that’s because there’s more cars on the road.’
Donohue grinned and nodded in agreement, stroking his goatee.
‘If my memory serves me correctly Len, I had more than just the flight to be
scared of back then.’
Dawn suddenly interrupted, glancing at her watch. It was 6:00pm.
‘Will the pair of you just stop wittering on about nonsense, we have a plane to
catch and it’ll be landing soon so let’s get a move on.’
Donohue’s grin widened.
‘Doesn’t she look sexy when she’s annoyed?’
His wife suddenly burst into laughter.
‘Do you see what I’ll have to put up with for the rest of my life, Lenny?’ she
quipped.
Mason turned to her.
‘How do you think I feel, I’ve had to put up with the same kind of crap for
over five years,’ he sniggered.
Donohue turned to his friend with a serious expression on his face this time.
‘Don’t forget, we’re not that far away so any time you fancy a flying visit…
excuse the pun.’ They hugged tightly, patting each other on the back.
‘Take care mate and remember, don’t go wasting all that money in the bloody
betting shops.’
‘Don’t worry, these days I can think of better things to spend it on.’
‘Me too…you know Len, I don’t miss the drink or drugs whatsoever.’ He
turned and smiled at his wife.
‘Christ, who needs shite like that when I’ve got a princess like this.’
It was Dawn’s turn to hug Mason, which proved difficult given her condition.
‘Just remember, when you feel like a break in the sun you’re welcome any
time, there’ll always be a place in our hearts for you.’ She kissed him on his left cheek
as Donohue picked up the two suitcases and once more hurried towards the escalators,
followed by his wife.
‘Take good care of that lovely lady of yours,’ Mason shouted after them.
Donohue glanced over his shoulder and he was sure that he could see tears in his
friend’s eyes. His eyes also moistened, so he stared ahead until he reached the
departure gate.
The plane soared into the sky and Donohue was surprised at himself, he
wasn’t scared at all. Maybe all the chaos and danger that had plagued his life the
previous winter overshadowed any fear he should’ve felt. A mere plane journey was
tame by comparison. He turned towards the window.
It was a beautiful summer’s day, without a cloud in the sky and he couldn’t
stop himself from smiling. Dawn slid her hand in his, and gripped it tightly. He turned
to face her, gazing deep into her eyes for a long moment until she spoke.
‘I love you Tom.’ She noticed a tear running down his cheek.
‘I love you too Dawn…I always have…I’m so happy and we’re going to have
a great future together…all four of us.’ His free hand stroked the bump beneath her
dress before he kissed her long and slow. A few minutes later he turned back to the
window and stared down at the disappearing landscape below and wondered if he’d
ever set foot on English soil again. He hoped not.

HACKETT’S LAST CIGAR
The weather was so stiflingly hot that it seemed to heat up the living room like a
greenhouse, which irritated him. In fact, everything irritated Frank Hackett at the
moment. He wiped salty sweat from his eyes with his shirt sleeve before pouring
himself another drink from one of the many decanters, not knowing or caring what it
was or how many he’d already knocked back since the morning. He just wanted to
drink himself into oblivion.
He stared at his reflection in the huge ornate mirror above the fireplace and
was disgusted with the sight that greeted him. His dishevelled appearance repulsed
him as though all of his life-long enemies were glaring back at him at once. He picked
up a decanter and hurled it at the mirror, shattering his reflection into nothingness. He
put his hand to his face to feel the two-week old stubble and looked down at his
alcohol and urine stained trousers, wondering how and why he’d ended up in such a
state. For the first time in his life there was no support from anybody – even the
remainder of his family disregarded him as a member. He was due to stand trial in
two days time, and the dread he felt was almost as overwhelming as the hatred he felt
for Tommy Donohue and his dead girlfriend for turning his life upside down.
Somehow he’d make him pay, but he didn’t know how when he didn’t even know
where he was. Besides, he was on his own now, friendless and penniless.
‘The disrespectful bastard,’ he seethed as he reached for a King Edward. He lit
it with trembling hands, and hated himself for being such a fool. He attempted to kick
the coffee table in frustration, but stumbled and fell clumsily into the drinks cabinet
with a loud crash. He lay still for a while, grumbling harshly before he eventually
managed to pull himself back to his feet.
The urgent banging on the front door jolted him from his vengeful thoughts.
He squinted at the wall clock above the TV, wondering who the hell would be calling
at 6:15pm, or at any other time for that matter. He slammed his glass onto the coffee
table, placed the cigar between his lips and made his way down the hallway. He
briefly glanced at the faded chalk mark where his dead wife had once lay and
wrenched open the front door to be greeted by the humid summer breeze. He
stumbled into the garden for a few moments to take in the outside world, which he
thought he might as well make the most of.
The rapping on the front door now forgotten, he sniffed the unmistakable July
pollen and barbecue aromas in the air. The sound of a distant lawnmower soothed him
for a time, but after a few minutes he soon became bored so he turned to step back
over the threshold. He felt a sudden sharp tap on his shoulder, prompting him to turn
around slowly and drunkenly.
‘I used to have loads of fucking friends and family,’ Bobby Smith screamed
before he buried the machete deep into Hackett’s skull.

Borrowed Time Cut Version

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Description:

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Borrowed Time Cut Version

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Vidamour/BORROWED TIME 1

THE SAME STRANGE DREAM

sense. She held something in her hand.

be the only one in the world.

wearing different clothes and he couldn’t understand why or how.

it was a Playstation2 and a Gameboy.

strange room with…four corpses.

the cover. The deathly face of Cathleen Elliott stared up at him.

either side of him.

accusatory finger towards him.

words even louder.

‘Tommy my Gameboy is broken, can you fix it please?’

‘We need to die.’

‘We were supposed to get bloody...MARRIED.’

‘Perleeease Tommy, I need to get past this mission on Vice City.’

They stood in a semi-circle inches in front of him screaming their commands

the voice of Detective Inspector Tony Johnson.

‘Well if it isn’t Mr fucking murderer himself.’

Donohue noticed he was holding a dark metallic object in both hands as he

rubbery substance. Johnson spoke again.

Johnson’s face was a twisted mask of contempt as he levelled the twin

barrels at Donohue’s face.

‘Time to die, you fucking murdering scumbag.’ He pulled both triggers…

reached for a Marlboro and lit it shakily.

He stood and exhaled deeply when his thirty-nine-year-old tired features

it in a ponytail after he changed out of his sweaty clothes.

An hour later, he set off to meet his friend.

1 -- SCABS ON THE SKIN OF SOCIETY

GATESHEAD, TYNE & WEAR, DECEMBER 2005:

‘That’s it, I’ve had enough,’ Forty-five-year-old Mason moaned as he raised

youths in the far corner of the bar.

Mason followed his gaze through the haze of cigarette smoke

‘What the fuck do you want you hippie bastard?’

silence. Donohue was adamant when he spoke again.

‘I’ll tell you one more time…get out of my pub.’

to scream and shout at the top of his voice.

‘You fucking bastard…look what you’ve done you stupid twat.’

like a felled tree, and this time he stayed down.

head for protection.

‘Being a pacifist means I tend to avoid trouble altogether if I can, but

sometimes exceptions have to be made…so be careful. I’d rather use my mouth as a

minutes, so I know you have a stash.’ Donohue’s voice was calm.

put in his own pocket.

towards the youth.

me…nobody owns me.’ Their eyes met.

told you what I look like. So what’s this message then?’

‘He just said…he wants to meet you tomorrow in his…club.’

‘Which club? He owns about three of the bastards.’

‘Hot Rocks.’ Mason finished for him.

‘That shithole…what does he want to see me about?’

‘I…don’t know… I think…’

‘The thing is, he…he’s gone to London.’

Mason, who merely shrugged.

‘Well he said it was to do with respect or…something,’ the youth replied.

‘So what time does he want to see me then?’

sarcasm confused the youth.

used their heads to open the door.

threw the third yob out in the same manner.

‘What do you think?’ Donohue asked.

‘About Frank Hackett wanting to meet me tomorrow, what else?’

didn’t he just ring?’

‘Yeah, I know…life’s just one big game to him.’ He shakily pulled an

unopened pack of Marlboro from his shirt pocket.