The Glasgow Grin (A Stanton Brothers thriller) Page 29

His boss looked down at him. “Move outta the way, lad.”

  Standing on tiptoes, Jimmy got in Bob’s face. “You need to think. Two million, and that’s just tonight’s payday, boss. Once you take over we can make that every fuckin’ week if we want. Forget these idiots. We send ‘em packing and we deal with Miles.”

  The mention of two million set my skin tingling. Goosebumps dotted my flesh, but I knew damn well that it had nothing to do with the cold night air.

  “Two million?” I said, peeking at McMaster.

  The safecracker smiled slightly and puffed out his chest in a way that said: I told you so.

  Jimmy sent me a sideward glance with a lot of hate in it and turned back to Bob. “Look at me, boss.” Although he was still breathing hard, Bob took his gaze off me and focused on Jimmy, who placed his hand on Bob’s chest. “Forget this piece of shit. He doesn’t matter. We can deal with him and his brother later.”

  Bob raised his hands in the air in a defensive gesture and backed away. His eyes still burned with anger, but for now he was letting my impudence slide.

  Eddie let out some wet mumbles and tried to get off the ground.

  Rose moved forwards and stabbed him in the balls a couple of times and then backed away with her hands high in the air, letting the knife fall. Eddie dropped to the ground with a scream and stayed there, in the foetal position, cradling his bleeding genitals and crying hysterically. He wouldn't be screwing anyone ever again – willing or otherwise.

  My brother continued to edge away until he was by my side, never taking his eyes off the intruders. McMaster also moved carefully in our direction, taking care to keep his weapon down.

  Bob noticed the safecracker and his nostrils flared again. “Long time no see, lad.”

  The safecracker stopped moving. “Bob.”

  “Were hoping it’d be more a case of long time never see.”

  “I’d hoped it was forgotten.”

  “I never forget, Mac,” he said. “You shot my best pimp. Killed him”

  “’Cause he sliced up my girlfriend.”

  “She gave him lip.”

  McMaster scoffed. “So that makes it okay?”

  “She should’ve known better.”

  “So should he,” McMaster replied. “Which is why he’s dead now.”

  “And you should’ve known better about coming back.”

  “You made a lot of money out of me,” McMaster said. “Back in the day.”

  “And that day were a long time ago,” Bob said, drawing his gun. “Which is why you’re about to be dead. All of you.”

  His gaze went down to the gun in his hand and then he raised his eyes to meet mine.

  “Oh, and Eric, sod your Hollis video. I’ll take my chances, lad.”

  So, Jimmy had told Bob about the video. I hadn’t expected that. I’d hoped the pleasure of that particular unveiling would be all mine. The fact that Bob was still planning to kill us, regardless of what would happen, meant that I’d pushed him too far. His temper was in control now.

  There was only one way out. I dropped the torch and waved my right hand in the air – index finger upright, in a full circle – and hoped that Mickey hadn’t run away.

  83. – Owden

  BOB STARED at Eric’s hand as he waved it around his head like a deranged person, having seemingly forgotten the gun that dangled from the other hand. Bob wasn’t sure what was going on, so turned towards Jimmy and shrugged his shoulders.

  Jimmy responded with a bemused, narrow-eyed grin, which broadened the longer that Eric waved his hand in the air, especially as nothing appeared to be happening. Then the hitman’s smile faded and his eyes angled up towards the surrounding trees. His head jerked left and right from one tree to the next.

  A surge of fear hit Bob like a fist as he realised that something wasn’t quite right.

  Waving his hands around manically, already running for the trees, Jimmy screamed, “Get the fuck outta here. Now!”

  And then the whole world went crazy.

  84. – Stanton

  I’D BEEN waving my hand around like an idiot for several seconds to no effect. An idea was forming that Mickey had let me down for the final time and I needed to make a run for it.

  Bob grinned as he raised the automatic, ready to take aim. I tried to make my legs move, but they were like concrete. Realising that things were about as bad as they could get, I accepted my fate and prepared to say fuck it. It was then that I noticed Jimmy was moving oddly, looking left-and-right with rapid moves of his head and body. He must have rumbled the set-up, because he waved his hand around his head and sprinted for cover, screaming, “Get the fuck outta here. Now!”

  That snapped Mickey out of his slumber.

  Silenced rounds slammed into the soil at Bob and Jimmy’s feet. Initially, both men danced manically on the spot, as though trying to Riverdance their way out of trouble. When they realised that all this was going to achieve was to make them look stupid, and dead, they jumped back and ran for the shadows. Bullets kicked up chunks of earth at their heels and forced them both behind the safety of a tree trunk.

  Another set of rounds smashed into Regan’s legs, sending him to the ground with a scream. He dropped his gun and turned in the direction of the shots. He didn’t see anything, so decided to take a risk and clawed at the wet mud in an attempt to reach the weapon. Anger and fear twisted his features as he scrabbled across the ground. He shrieked incoherently, his voice rising to an ear-piercing pitch, and made a grab for the handle. A new volley of bullets tore his hand to shreds, and another squeal rang out.

  My brother picked up speed and slalomed through the trees and shrubs until he disappeared from view. McMaster tried to keep up, but didn’t have the pace and shouted at him to wait. Just before I left the clearing, I stopped, turned and shouted at Rose to follow us.

  The uplighting from the dropped torch made her resemble a movie-monster, her face swathed in bandages and long dark shadows that turned her eyes into black sockets. Her journey from beauty to beast was finally complete. Somehow, she ignored the bullets that whizzed around her, and the sound of my voice, and focused her attention on something that lay on the ground. I followed her gaze and saw light glint off the blade she’d dropped.

  I thought about shouting again, but knew it wouldn’t do any good.

  She kneeled down, scooped up the knife and turned it in her hand. Then she tilted her head towards Eddie.

  Realising how much trouble he was in, the pimp wailed for help and crawled away on his belly. He clawed the earth manically, bringing up handfuls of dirt, but he was moving too slow and he knew it. He looked back over his shoulder at Rose, and saw no forgiveness or hope in her expression. She let out a banshee shriek and plunged the blade into Eddie’s back again and again and again as he howled in agony.

  It was no less than he deserved.

  Justice was done. Or, at least, vengeance.

  I turned away and sprinted through the darkness, bumping and bustling my way through the trees and shrubs. A couple of times I lost my footing, stumbled in the mud, and got a mouthful of dirt and twigs, but on each occasion I clambered up and started sprinting again. Using the distant crack of breaking branches as a guide, I moved in the direction of my brother and McMaster but it was difficult to do without torchlight.

  I looked behind for a split-second, to see if anybody was on my tail, and slammed a tree trunk with my shoulder. The impact sent a bolt of pain down my arm and spun me around until I lost my bearings. My feet skidded through a slippery patch of mud and my legs went from under me. I went into the air and seemed to linger, weightless, before my back slammed into the wet soil.

  Winded and in pain, I lay on the ground and looked up at the night sky. There were no stars, only fat, dark clouds that promised rain. A breeze made the branches shiver. Damp seeped into my clothing and cooled my back.

  Despite my fear, and the adrenaline racing through my system, I felt remarkably calm. Part of me wanted to stay here, sta
ring at the passing clouds, until morning, but I knew that this would be suicide. Bob and his men would soon be scouring the area with murder on their mind.

  I had to know one thing, though, before I got off the ground and started running again. Fumbling through my jacket, I grabbed my phone and dialled Rose’s number.

  A Yorkshire baritone came down the line: “I’m afraid Rose can’t come to the phone right now, Eric.”

  I heard Eddie’s loud cries of pain in the background. Bob was keeping him alive for some unknown reason, though I couldn’t say the same about Rose. She was either dead or about to end up that way; had there been any fight in her she would have been attacking Eddie with every means at her disposal.

  Rose had been taken out of the equation because she didn’t fit the plan. Bob hadn’t come to the clearing because of her, he’d come because of Eddie. He was there for money; two million pounds of it, if Jimmy was right. Even successful pimps didn’t make that kind of money, so there was something going on that I couldn’t yet see, or understand.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  “Otherwise occupied.”

  “Occupied like Regan?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh, only more so,” he replied, meaning that she was gone. I thought about her daughter for a few moments and felt a momentary pull in my chest. I stopped thinking about things I could do nothing about and focused my attention on my own situation.

  “What’re you playing at, Bob?”

  “I might ask the same of you, lad.”

  “I’m not playing at anything,” I replied. “But I can play, if you’d prefer? You won’t like it if I do, though.”

  “Oh, right, your videos and photos,” Bob replied, his voice bright, almost amused. “Don’t tell me. If owt happens to you, they’re all gonna go to the press, right?” He let out a small chuckle.

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “No, Robert. If owt happens to me, these fuckin’ things go to Uncle… Jack… Samson.”

  Bob stopped laughing. He stopped speaking, too.

  In fact, the only thing I heard was the wind jostling the trees.

  85. – Owden

  ROUND AFTER round slammed into the thick trunk, kicking tree bark confetti into the air. Bob tried to peer around the trunk of the tree he was using as a shield but another volley of bullets sent him back into hiding.

  Jimmy crouched a couple of trees to the left with his back to Bob, using his mobile phone camera to spot where the fire was coming from. He didn’t seem to be having much luck, and every few seconds he tried to see the action for himself.

  Bob hissed to get his attention. Jimmy turned on his heels and said, “What is it?”

  “Forget about them, lad,” Bob said. “You wanna stay good with me, take out Rose before she finishes Eddie off.”

  An expression of worry creased Jimmy’s forehead. He stared at the gun in his hand, seemingly conflicted.

  “I’ll pay off your debt, if you do,” Bob said. “We’re square again.”

  Jimmy stared up at the sky for a few seconds, shaking his head and muttering under his breath, and then rounded the tree. Bob didn’t hear the shots, but he did discern a thin yelp of pain somewhere to his right. Jimmy rounded the tree again, hunkering down, as a fresh volley of bullets knocked out fist-sized chunks of tree bark and kicked up lumps of soil and leaves near his feet.

  “You get her?”

  Jimmy nodded, but seemed unable to speak. He looked like he was going to vomit at any second. He wiped his mouth with the back of his gun hand, leaned back and looked at the sky again.

  Bob let out another hiss to get his attention. “She dead?”

  Jimmy gave single jerky nod of the head.

  Without warning the volley of bullets stopped. The sound was replaced by Regan and Eddie wailing a discordant harmony of pain. Bob waited for the gunfire to restart, but it didn’t. He let another few seconds pass before he crept out from behind the tree and scanned the area.

  Regan lay on his stomach, pushing his face into the mud to smother the howls of pain. His jeans were soaked with blood and his left leg was splayed at an unnatural angle. What had once been his right hand was now a pulpy stump of bone and gristle. Blood flowed from it in a steady stream.

  Eddie also lay on his front in the dirt. Blood flowed through numerous holes in his jacket. He tried to crawl away, but screamed loudly every time he attempted to move. Rose was on her back beside him, staring wide-eyed at the night sky with a knife in her hand. She had a hole in her chest, just below the neck, and a ragged bullet wound in her forehead just left of centre.

  The Karagounis brothers were slithering towards the shadows on their bellies, trying to find a place to hide.

  “You two lads better stop moving,” Bob said.

  They went stiff, then turned their heads in the direction of his voice, faces contorted with pain and fear. Bob waved his gun at them. “I’ll wanna talk to you, shortly.”

  Jimmy started running in the direction of where the sniper fire had come from. Bob called him back. Jimmy’s eyebrows were raised in a quizzical expression.

  “Forget about ‘em.”

  “Are you…”

  “We’ve got more serious things to worry about,” Bob said. “Like making sure Lee don’t bleed to death, for starters.”

  Jimmy unbuckled his belt and pulled it from the loops in his waistband. He made a knot and wrapped it around Regan’s forearm, pulling it tight. Then he undid Regan’s belt, looped it around his left thigh and cut off the blood supply. Regan screamed until his voice cracked and he passed out face down in the soil. Jimmy put a couple of fingers against the man’s neck and checked for a pulse. When he was satisfied that Regan was still alive, Jimmy gently turned the man’s face to the right, so that he could breathe, and then sat on the ground for a moment’s respite. He stared at Rose for a few seconds, eyes devoid of emotion, but he couldn’t disguise his quivering bottom lip. His shaking hands were easier to hide, by folding his arms and wedging the palms flat against his chest.

  Bob rummaged in his right jacket pocket, pulled out a mobile phone, and threw it in Jimmy’s direction. It thumped into the soft soil near the hitman’s feet. He looked down at it and gave another curious raise of the eyebrows.

  “You need to phone the cleaners, lad.”

  Jimmy shook his head. “The Kemps aren’t gonna clean this.”

  “Kemps’ll clean owt for the right price,” Bob replied. “Besides, you trust the two wazzocks Regan brought with him to do it?”

  Jimmy shook his head and picked up the phone.

  “While you’re at it, get one of the crews out here to help with the heavy lifting.”

  Bob crouched down beside Eddie and turned him over. The pimp screamed until Bob leaned in and muffled his screams with the palm of his hand. Eyes wide with fright, Eddie searched Bob’s face for signs of hope. “She did quite the number on you, didn’t she son? But I’m figuring you might survive if I get you to my surgeon in time.”

  Eddie’s chances of survival were zero. Bob had no intention of letting him live; whether it was for smuggling in heroin and girls, or for slicing up Emily McGarvey, Eddie was a dead man, but offering him a thin sliver of hope might get him talking.

  “But the only way you’re gonna survive is to tell me where you’ve hidden your money.”

  “What mon…”

  Bob clamped his left hand tightly over Eddie’s mouth and pinched his nostrils closed with his right. Eddie clawed at Bob’s hands with weak flaps of his arms, but most of his fight had already soaked into the soil around him. Just as Eddie’s face was turning purple, and the strength in his fingers faded, Bob removed his hands. The pimp sucked at the air in long, wet gasps and coughed up blood-flecked spittle.

  “You wanna live, lad? Then tell me where you’ve hidden your money?”

  Eddie was trying to cough out his answer when something started to vibrate. Light streamed from Rose’s jacket pocket. Bob reached in, grasped her phone, pulled it out: the display
read, Eric S.

  He answered. “I’m afraid Rose can’t come to the phone right now, Eric.”

  “Where is she?”

  Bob stared at her corpse. “Otherwise occupied.”

  “Occupied like Regan?” Eric said.

  “Uh-huh, only more so.”

  “What’re you playing at, Bob?”

  “I might ask the same of you, lad.”

  “I’m not playing at anything. But I can play, if you’d prefer? You won’t like it if I do, though.”

  Bob’s moment of anger had passed, allowing him to appraise the situation calmly. He knew that killing the Stanton brothers would cause him far more trouble than keeping them alive, but at the same time he refused to let them negotiate their own terms. If they got out of Teesside, and went far away, he wouldn’t chase them; though he wasn’t about to volunteer that information to Eric. “Your videos, your photos,” Bob replied, trying to put some insouciance into his voice. “Don’t tell me. If owt happens to you, they’re all gonna go to the press, right?”

  He chuckled, so Eric would think he couldn’t care less.

  Eric responded with his own nonchalant laugh, and the hairs on the back of Bob’s neck stood upright. Something wasn’t right about that laugh.

  “No, Robert. If owt happens to me, these fuckin’ things go to Uncle… Jack… Samson.”

  The forest moved around him like smoke on a breeze and his legs went wobbly. Bob tried to remain upright by resting against a tree trunk, but lost his footing and stumbled forward into the dirt. Bob blinked until the world stopped swirling and everything became solid again. He wanted to maintain his cool and come up with a smart comment but Eric had him by the balls and there was nothing to say.

  Bob’s demise would at least be quick if the files went to the press and the police. They would act, he would react, and he’d end up on the run, in a prison cell, or dead. But if the files went to Jack Samson the result would be death by a thousand cuts. Using the files as leverage, Jack would take Bob’s businesses one by one until they were all gone. And finally, when Bob was at his weakest and his reputation in ruins, Jack would send the files to the press and the police anyway – just to spite him.