‘He isn’t like the others we’ve fought in the past,’ I said. ‘Tubal Cain, Dantalion, Rickard, they were all pros in their own right. You ask me, Samuel Logan’s a few sandwiches short of a picnic. I don’t think he’d have the capacity to find us if we didn’t hang around and wait for him.’
‘He’s maybe dumb, but it doesn’t make him any less dangerous.’
I thought of the pain in my body, a dull ache by now, and had to agree. ‘I’m not going to underestimate him, Rink. In fact, if anything, I have to be extra careful. Cain, Luke Rickard, they had similar backgrounds and training to us and because of that we could sometimes predict their movements. It’s different here. Samuel Logan, I don’t know what motivates him, and it’s difficult to second-guess him.’
‘What if he doesn’t go there?’
‘Then I find some other way to bring him to us.’
‘You lookin’ for another stand-up drag-’em-out brawl?’
‘It’s a case of heart versus mind. I’d love to go at him man to man, but no. Soon as I get the opportunity I’ll put a couple of rounds in his head.’
‘Make sure you don’t miss this time.’
‘That’s the thing, Rink. I’m sure I didn’t miss last time.’
‘So you’re fighting Superman?’
‘No, not Superman. But there’s something unnatural about him.’ I told Rink how I’d repeatedly smashed Samuel’s face with my fists and forehead and he’d barely reacted.
‘You know the deal,’ Rink said. ‘When the blood’s up, you sometimes don’t feel the pain until after. I can guarantee he was swallowing Tylenol like they were M&Ms later on.’
‘Maybe.’
‘There’s no maybe. When I was fighting in those knockdown karate tournaments, I saw guys breaking their shins against each other, but they carried on to the end of the fight. Broke my wrist once, but I still won. Tell you what, though… later on I was moaning like a bitch in heat. It’ll have been the same with that nut-job. Guarantee it, brother.’ Rink paused and I knew he was considering taking the next flight out here. ‘An’ if I’m wrong, let’s see how he gets on with a load of shot up his ass.’
‘You’d have thought a couple of three-five-sevens would have put him down for good.’
‘So maybe you missed.’
The conversation was going round in circles.
‘Won’t next time,’ I said, trying my best to put a lid on it.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘There’s too much at stake there.’
He was right, this wasn’t just about me. Because I was leading their tormentor directly towards them, my crazy plan was a sure way of causing Jay and Nicole further nightmares. Not that I intended placing either of them within his grasp, but what if Rink was wrong and there was more to this man than met the eye? OK, he was no Tubal Cain or Luke Rickard, but he was a determined and violent antagonist. In fact, his unconventional style might prove to be more dangerous than any of the professional killers I’d faced in the past.
I experienced a slight fluttering in my guts, the first trickle of adrenalin as I responded to the challenge. Rink has often accused me of getting off on the thrill of battle; maybe he had something. I was looking forward to meeting Samuel Logan and the sooner the better.
The silence at the other end of the phone had grown palpable.
‘What?’
‘Take it easy, bro.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t let this frog-giggin’ sumbitch draw you into his world.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘I don’t need to be looking at you to know you’re wearing your war face. Shit, man, you ask me you’re fixating as hard on Samuel as the Logans did on the girls.’
‘I think that my kind of fixation’s a lot different from theirs.’
He breathed heavily into the mouthpiece. ‘Whatever. But it’s still unhealthy… whichever way you look at it.’
‘You turning into a shrink these days, spouting all this psychobabble?’
‘Ain’t spouting nothin’. Just offering the voice of reason, you understand?’
‘As long as you don’t start feeling my bumps, Rink.’
‘I might give you a couple bumps when I see you. It’s the only way to knock some sense into your fat head.’
We both laughed, and it was a good point to ring off. I was looking forward to personally finishing things with Samuel, but, truth be told, it would make sense if Rink was there to watch my back. If I had my way that wasn’t going to happen though, not this time.
34
Samuel Logan was barely recognisable now and he felt the disguise would get him all the way to Jay’s room without alerting anyone to his true identity.
Earlier, he’d used Roger Hawkins’s keys to gain access to the man’s apartment. Though palatial in comparison to the shack he’d shared with his family, it was a soulless place at basement level, steps leading down from the street to the front entrance. On opening the door he’d found an open-plan area with hardwood floors, heavy leather furniture, a large plasma screen TV and entertainment centre, and, thankfully, no sign of a family. He wondered if Hawkins had a wife and kids who lived elsewhere and if the businessman kept this place for when he was in the city. Off the main living room was an en suite bathroom and a kitchen with appliances that he was unfamiliar with, as well as a large bedroom with a walk-in dressing closet. That was what he was most interested in and he’d found a two-piece suit not unlike the one Hawkins was wearing earlier. Shirts on hangers hung in colour-coordinated ranks and below them shoes and boots for every occasion. Samuel stripped down to his boxers, studying himself in a full-length mirror. He looked like a beer keg on legs, but unlike Hawkins his sturdy frame wasn’t formed of pulpy fat. Like his face, his body was a network of fine white scars from past injuries, whereas a couple of others — burns primarily — were lumpy with pink scar tissue. His bandages were soiled. The pink had become red, and was fast changing hue again to an ugly brown. He stank. He didn’t have time to waste on showering, so looked instead for toiletries and sprayed his body liberally with cologne from a glass bottle. Then, at random, he chose a shirt and pulled it on. It almost fit. It was tight across his shoulders and upper arms, whereas there was plenty of loose material at his waist. He then dressed in the suit. He had to add a belt to keep the trousers up, but again the jacket was snug up top. He studied himself in the mirror again, and saw that his greasy hair and roughly shaved face belied the expensive clothing, but didn’t care too much about it. There were razors and scissors in the bathroom. Hawkins’s shoes were too small for him, so he’d no option but to pull on his own boots again. He didn’t think that anyone would be astute enough to notice such detail as his work boots any way.
He sheared away the longest hair and combed it into a side parting, used Hawkins’s razor to scrape his beard off. The man who stared back at him from the mirror was a stranger. With his hair bleached and cut short he barely recognised himself, and he leaned towards the glass to check that it was indeed his own eyes staring back at him. He even went so far as to reach out and jab a fingertip against the glass, just to make sure. He left an oily smear on the surface. Samuel couldn’t give a damn for forensic evidence. The cops were already after him, and it wouldn’t matter if they tied him to the death of Roger Hawkins or anyone else: they’d have to catch him first, and when they did he didn’t expect to walk away from the confrontation alive.