Jock Kerr slowly looked around all four walls of his son’s and daughter-in-law’s lounge. Though he had the place to himself he was feeling anything other than relaxed. In fact if truth be told he was anxious and agitated. It felt as if he was being imprisoned.
This is doing my head in. I’ve had enough.
He picked up the car keys from the coffee table, trotted out of the house, jumped into the hire car and fired up the engine. Before pulling off the drive he phoned DS John Reed on his mobile.
“I’m coming down to the gym. I’m sorry but I can’t take anymore of this. I can’t keep hiding away.” He listened to the detective’s response, before replying. “Look there are four of you nearby. If Billy and Rab turn up then you’ll nick them won’t you?” He hung up before giving the sergeant an opportunity to object.
He’d watched in his rear view mirror more than he usually did when he was driving but nothing untoward had grabbed his attention and he felt quite relaxed by the time he had reached his gym.
He found the entrance doors locked and checked his watch. He guessed that the boxing coach who had been looking after things in his absence had gone home early. He unlocked both doors and let himself in.
The place was fairly tidy with only a few weights out of place. He took a long lingering look around. The pristine whitewashed walls gave the gymnasium a clean and bright if not clinical appearance to the place. A full size boxing ring took up half of the floor space with one side for weight training and another for bag work. This place was his pride and joy. It had taken him a long time to build it up. Most of his life was in this place.
I’m buggered if I’m going to lose all this because of those two evil shites!
As he began to reset the loose weights onto the metal racks he heard the screech of tyres on the tarmac outside. He stopped what he was doing and listened. Less than thirty seconds later there was a fresh screech of rubber, quickly followed by another. He snatched up the wall phone and punched in Hunter’s mobile number. As his son answered Jock heard the back doors crash open. He had just enough time to tell his son that Billy and Rab were here before the line went dead.
* * * * *
Billy Wallace slipped into the room alone.
Jock saw that he was still wearing that signature Crombie of his.
After all these years, and he still dresses like he’s the ‘big I am’
Jock took in the menacing look Billy targeted him with as he stepped slowly, deliberately, further into the room. He caught a glimpse of his eyes. Billy’s pupils had become so dilated that his eyes appeared almost black. It was a look Jock had seen in those eyes once before. It was the look of cold death.
Suddenly everything seemed to fast-forward. Jock witnessed a quick movement in Billy’s right arm, it was a jabbing movement downwards, and he spotted the glint of a long blade emerge from the end of his sleeve. A tremor raced through him. Then he realised he was still clutching one of the free weights and it gave him a strange reassurance. He tightened his grip around the bar-bell.
“Don’t be stupid Billy if you do anything to me you’re going to go away for a very long time. You’ll probably die in prison.” Jock said, doing his best to sound calm. “You can walk away from this right now and no one will be any the wiser.”
“I’ve done thirty six fucking years already because of you. It will be worth it,” he growled, edging closer.
Jock saw Billy’s face change. He was met by a cold-bloodied stare as he stepped closer.
Taking up a defensive stance, Jock swung the six-kilogram barbell behind his hip, whilst balling the other into a solid fist. A strange thought entered his head; two combatants locked in a fight to the death.
Billy catapulted himself forward swinging his right arm in a whiplash movement.
The knife slashed across Jock’s forearm before he had time to react.
He bounced backwards with fighting instinct and the metal racks clattered against his legs.
Then he spotted the blood spreading through his sweat top, though surprisingly there was no pain. It bought memories flashing into his brain from his boxing days. He remembered he had not recognised pain back then.
Billy pulled back the knife again, preparing for another attack. Every sinew in Jock’s body tightened; stretched as tight as a bow ready to fire and he felt an immense power surge through him. He dropped back on one leg and exploded forward swinging the barbell up in an arc. It smacked against Billy’s jaw and he instantly knew from the blankness which registered in his eyes that he had done the damage. He’d seen that look so many times during his boxing bouts. He instantly followed up with a left hook, smacking the side of Billy’s head. He heard the knife clatter to the floor and saw Billy’s legs buckle. Just before he sank, Jock caught him with the swinging barbell again. A dull thwack emanated from the back of his head.
Jock dropped on top of him, took a handful of hair and yanked Billy’s head back violently. Then he slipped an arm to the front of his neck, slotted his windpipe into the crook between his muscular forearm and bicep, and began to squeeze.
* * * * *
Hunter grabbed Barry Newstead within seconds of the line going dead. “My dad’s in trouble,” he hissed bolting for the side door of the pub.
A rush of energy surged through him as he jumped into his car and fired it up. Slamming the gear into first, and stamping the accelerator, he revved the 1.9 litre engine of his Audi and tore out of the pub car park towards the gym.
Barry was making an emergency call on his mobile whilst attempting to buckle up.
Less than ten minutes later the car skidded violently sideways across the tarmac surface of the gym’s car park and shuddered to a halt.
Hunter flew from the car leaving the engine running and propelled himself through the rear double doors into the gym.
Only seconds behind was Barry
Rab Geddes was waiting for them in the corridor, legs astride and holding in front of him a wooden baseball bat. He smacked into his palm.
Hunter skidded on the wooden surface and came to halt a few yards from him.
“Where’s Billy Wallace?” he screamed.
“You’re too late!” Rab retorted with a sneer.
For a few seconds there was a stand-off. Hunter eyed the baseball bat bouncing in Rab’s hands. Then anger took over. He flew at him aiming for his face, mauling with clawing hands, gouging at his eyes like a rugby player in a ruck. The force spiralled Rab sideways smashing him into the wall. Hunter heard the breath explode from his lungs and felt the warm breath on his cheek, and in a white heat of berserk fury, and using his arms like pistons, he pulled, punched and pummelled.
Barry Newstead jumped into the fray forcing in his bulk. Within seconds Rab was pinned against the wall. The baseball bat clattered to the floor as he tried to protect himself from the unexpected onslaught.
Hunter fell away gasping for breath, drenched in sweat, and doubled-up almost retching as he watched Barry slam in a couple more punches to the ribs before Rab collapsed into a heap.
“My dad,” Hunter managed to gasp as he gulped in a lung full of air.
“You go and help him.” Barry urged. “This guy’s going nowhere fast.”
Hunter turned on his heels hitting the double swing doors into the main training area with his shoulder. He caught his balance, re-adjusted and quickly scoured the room. He caught sight of his dad by the weight rack draped across a prostrate figure which he immediately realised was Billy Wallace. At first Hunter wondered what was happening then the reality hit home. His father was strangling Billy. He sprinted the ten yards across the wooden sprung floor and snapped his arms around him making every effort to drag him off, but his dad had Billy locked tight.
“Dad! Dad!” he screamed, “He’s had enough, let him go. You’re going to kill him.”