‘ Fucked if I know, but I’m worried, Spence. There was a lot of gear in that suitcase and bastards like them always come and collect debts one way or another.’ She took a few long drags of her cigarette and stumped it out into the already overflowing ashtray on the floor. Propping herself up on one elbow, she suggested, ‘Spencer, let’s get out of here, at least for the time being. It’d be safer, it’d be sensible. I mean, we can be unemployed anywhere.’
‘ You’d be on the run from the cops.’
‘ The cops aren’t what bother me. Cops don’t kill you or beat you up. Pissed-off drug dealers do.’
‘ What about dosh?’
‘ That never bothered us before. We hardly have any money now.’
He chewed the idea over. ‘We could become like Bonnie and Clyde, robbin’ an’ thievin’ an’ killin’ all over the place. Might be a good laff.’
‘ Or Mickey and Mallory,’ Cheryl added enthusiastically. Natural Born Killers was their favourite film of all time.
‘ Yeah, shootin’ and killin’. Sounds really fucking ace.’ He farted and a nauseous smell erupted from his backside. ‘Money! Money! Money! Fast! Faster!’ he quoted his favourite line from the film.
‘ Come on then, let’s do it,’ she urged him.
‘ What, now?’ he laughed, unsure whether or not to believe her.
‘ Yes, now. Let’s get going. You nick a car, we’ll rob an off-licence and then hit the road.’
The prospect of actually getting dressed and leaving the confines of the warm flat at that exact moment suddenly had no appeal to the future Public Enemy Number One, Spencer Grayson. ‘No, I can’t be arsed,’ he grunted. ‘I’ve had too much bevy. I can’t even get a stiffy up. I just need to get to bed. Maybe tomorrow, eh?’
Cheryl flopped on to her back, drew up her knees and folded her arms across the cushion in a huff ‘Well, thank you very much. Shows how much you care about me — NOT!’
‘ Oh, quit whingeing.’ Spencer stood up and headed towards the bedroom. ‘I’m going to get some zeds.’ At the bedroom door he bent his knees, pointed his rear end at Cheryl, exposed his backside by pulling down his underpants and emitted a massive fart in her direction… a noise which coincided with the front door of the flat being smashed down.
The meal progressed equably. The main course was consumed. Small talk dominated. It was an opportunity for Billy Crane to get updated on gossip. He had been out of the North-West criminal mainstream for four years. It was good to talk.
They reached the end of the meal at 9.30 p.m. Smith paid with his credit card, adding an extravagant tip for the service which had been good — but not that good. The two men left the restaurant and exited the hotel through the revolving doors. Smith waved a hand. A few moments later a black Ford Granada drew up at the foot of the steps. They climbed into the rear and the car pulled smoothly away, out on to the promenade, heading north.
‘ This better be good, Don. I don’t want to spend any more time than necessary in this fucking country. I’m freezing my balls off already.’
‘ Billy, I promise you, it is good. You’d be well upset if I hadn’t brought it to your attention.’
Crane eased back into the plush seat.
‘ Don’t get comfy,’ Smith warned. ‘We ain’t staying in this motor. It’s a bit too flashy, wouldn’t you say?’
‘ Depends on what you’re doing and who you’re doing it with.’
They cut inland at Gynn Square, heading east out of Blackpool on the A585. At a lay-by on Garstang Road, the Granada drew in behind a battered-looking Vauxhall Carlton. A man was sitting at the wheel, the engine ticking over.
‘ Come on.’
Smith and Crane jumped out of the Granada and dived into the rear of the less salubrious saloon.
‘ Move it,’ Smith uttered to the driver as soon as the doors slammed shut. Without a word the man released the clutch, looped the car into a U-turn and headed back into Blackpool. The Granada set off and continued east. The change over had taken only a matter of seconds.
‘ You never know,’ Smith said.
‘ Can’t be too careful,’ Crane sighed. He was becoming agitated.
Smith saw Crane’s expression in the light cast by the streetlamps. ‘You’ll know soon enough… and I guarantee you’ll like it.’
‘ Yeah, right.’ Crane stared out of the window, grating his teeth.
Less than five minutes later they were back in Blackpool, motoring south down the promenade then driving into a car park at the rear of a pub in South Shore. It was an establishment controlled, though not owned, by Smith. He took the profits from the bandits and the drugs. The landlord kept his mouth shut, ran a tight ship as far as the law could see, and got a cut big enough to keep him happy.
Smith led Crane in through the back door of the pub and up a flight of stairs to a first-floor room, large enough to have a raised stage at one end, a temporary bar at the other and a dance-floor in between. A couple of rows of chairs and tables were stacked up in front of the stage.
One table and three chairs were set up near to the disused bar. In one of the chairs sat a man holding a pint glass, half full of beer. A whisky bottle and three glasses stood on the table. One of the glasses contained the man’s measure of the spirit which he was drinking as a chaser. An open packet of cigarettes was next to the bottle, resting on its tilted lid, several cigarettes poking out, ready to be selected. The man had one in his mouth. The ashtray indicated he had been smoking pretty heavily.
He rose cautiously as Smith and Crane entered the room.
Smith shook his hand and patted him reassuringly on the arm. The man’s eyes were checking out Crane all the time.
‘ I’d like you to meet my partner,’ Smith said to the man. ‘Names don’t matter at the moment. All you need to know is that this man can make things happen.’
Just to appease Smith, Crane proffered his hand to the man and shook his sweaty paw.
‘ This,’ Smith continued for Crane’s benefit, ‘is Colin Hodge. Colin’s got a very interesting story to tell, haven’t you, Colin?’
Fear made her vomit. She brought up a combination of Martini and semen, all of which coagulated horribly on her chest and stomach. She was still naked. They had taken her that way, but had not touched her other than by accident. That was one of the things which told her these guys were professionals, neither distracted nor interested in a naked female. They had come to do a job, that was all.
She was lying on the freezing cold, hard, concrete floor. Shivering. Her hands were bound behind her back, attached to her ankles by a cord. Her feet were strapped together with wide, silver-coloured sticky tape. She could not move other than to wriggle. She tried to see into the darkness, but there was nothing. No movement. No points of light. No sound. She could sense she was in a building of sorts, maybe a factory. Otherwise she was disorientated and alone.
Oh God, where is Spencer? she thought desperately, knowing they had taken him too.
Her mind raced back to the door of the flat flying open and the two men bursting in.
Spencer cried out, ‘What the fuck?’ hitched up his underpants and spun to face the intruders.
Their names were Hawker and Price, ex-military, and they moved lightning quick. Hawker rammed a rod of some sort into Spencer’s chest and the youth was launched into the bedroom as though at the epicentre of an explosion; he was literally lifted off his feet by the voltage from the shock baton.
Cheryl got to her knees, clutching the cushion across her chest.
Price dragged her to her feet by her hair, tore the cushion from her grasp and touched her ribcage underneath her left breast with another shock baton, the same model that had pole-axed Spencer.
It was like being hit by an express train as the charge of electricity seared into her. Suddenly life went totally blank. A huge chest-encompassing pain drove all the air out of her, sucking it from her very toes and fingertips, sending her reeling into inner space.