Stalkers

Chapter 41

‘Looking for this?’ the Kid asked.

He produced something flat and shiny, which looked like a sardine can with the wrapper removed. It was the hard drive from Blenkinsop’s computer. When he opened his hand, it fell to pieces, having already been dismantled. One by one, he ground its circuits under his heel.

‘Oops,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Oh by the way, drop the blade.’

Heck had no option; he released the knife.

The Kid chuckled. ‘Good of you to leave your dabs all over that. That’s another murder we can frame you for. I’m a bit surprised actually. You’re the one who supposedly outsmarted Deke. Least, I’m guessing you did. We haven’t heard anything from him since he was supposed to whack you, and now you’re answering his phone.’

Heck shook his head. ‘You’ll never find out what happened to Deke.’

The Kid shrugged. ‘Hardly matters. He was never really part of the crew, just an employee. They come and go. We don’t form emotional attachments with any of them.’

‘Cold professionals, eh? Except that you aren’t, are you? I mean you personally.’

The Kid grinned and beckoned Heck along the landing. ‘I wouldn’t press too many buttons if I were you. Just because I’m under orders not to kill you yet doesn’t mean I won’t get the pleasure later on.’

‘The rest of your mob are professionals, but you aren’t,’ Heck insisted. ‘You’re the immature one, aren’t you? The one who craves notoriety.’

‘I’m warning you, pig … don’t make it hard for yourself.’

‘You see, I’ve seen you before. On crime scene photos from Brighton and Aberystwyth. Those were perfect snatches. Your crew got clean away each time, but you couldn’t resist coming back to see what was happening. To revel in the misery and fear you’d caused.’

‘Every job has its perks.’

‘And every job has its fucking idiots who can’t be trusted to do it properly. Which is where you come in.’ Heck knew he was getting to the Kid by attacking his self-esteem; he could see the laugh lines fading from the truculent, youthful face. ‘You’re the weak link in the chain, son. A social inadequate who’s only in it for the thrill of feeling powerful, and as such is going to get his mates bagged and tagged.’

‘Enough talking!’ the Kid snapped, backing towards the top of the stairs, but now pointing the gun straight at Heck’s forehead. By the gleam in the Kid’s eyes, he was crazy — he’d have to be to be part of this outfit — but by his own admission he was under orders not to shoot. So Heck took the gamble and continued goading him.

‘You know what we call you in the Serial Crimes Unit — “the Kid”.’

The Kid’s eyes were slowly clouding over.

‘That’s right,’ Heck said. ‘As in the young one, the inexperienced one, the inept one. Can’t build much of a rep on that. Ever heard of a master criminal called “the Kid”?’

The Kid’s gun hand was trembling.

‘But it gets worse,’ Heck said — he knew they were reaching critical mass, and was now watching his captor ultra-carefully. ‘How’d you think your mates would react if they knew what you’d been up to? I bet they wouldn’t stop at “inadequate” or “inept”, would they? I bet they’d slip “dickhead” in there, or “useless prick”. How about “brainless fucking pipsqueak”?’

‘You pig bastard!’ the Kid shrieked, raising the gun and slashing down with it.

Heck blocked the blow with his left, and caught the Kid square on the nose with a right. The Kid’s head flew backward, but he kept his feet. Heck clutched at the hand holding the gun and slammed it against the wall. The Kid hung on to the weapon and tried to claw Heck’s face, but Heck butted him, drawing a yelp of outrage. They were now at the top of the stairs, the Kid teetering on the edge. Heck threw another right, catching him again on his already broken, blood-spurting nose. The Kid squawked, tottered and fell backward. Heck, not wanting to lose hold of the gun hand, dived down the stairs after him. They crashed all the way to the bottom, breaking spindles, bouncing over treads. The adrenaline that seemed to have been pumping through Heck’s veins for several days rendered him almost immune to the many bumps and sprains. Though he was again fighting for his life, it was a less terrifying ordeal than it would have been a week ago. This member of the opposition had plainly never been a soldier of any description, let alone a special forces guy; his combat skills were too inadequate. This boosted Heck’s confidence no end — he got to his feet first.

The Kid, who was grovelling in agony on the hall floor, was still clinging on to the gun. Heck stamped on his hand twice. The gun came loose, and Heck kicked it, sending it skittering away across the tiles, its silencer detaching. The Kid tried to stand up — Heck let him, then caught him with another left, followed by a short, crisp right. The Kid crumpled down in a heap, where he lay groaning. Heck turned to look for the gun. There was no sign of it — it had slid away in the direction of a half-open door on the other side of the hall. Heck limped over there.

But the Kid couldn’t afford to leave it at this; there was too much at stake. Unexpectedly, he dragged himself to his feet and barrelled into Heck’s back, toppling him out of the way, and running past to get to the door first. Heck caught him by the belt and hooked an arm over his shoulder. They crashed into the open door together, blundering through it and falling down yet another stair, this one made from rough wood. The floor at the bottom was cold concrete, and this time Heck got the worst of it. He was underneath and the Kid on top, so it drove all the wind out of him.

The Kid tore himself from Heck’s weakened grasp, jumped to his feet and, in the half-light, stumbled over an empty box, hitting a workbench. Hand tools flew everywhere. The Kid swore as he kicked them around, still looking for the gun. Heck levered himself up onto his elbows. The Kid suddenly spotted something, and hunkered down. Winded, Heck tried to get up but knew that he wouldn’t make it. His opponent spun around, Colt Cobra in hand, his face a Halloween mask of bloodied, maniacal glee. He fired twice, the detonations deafening.

The first slug hit Heck in the solar plexus with what felt like crushing force. The second took him in the upper right chest, flipping him sideways. He slammed against the bench, sending yet more tools spinning. Both blows had packed sledgehammer power; his innards seemed pulverised.

Reality ebbed before his fading eyes, and then he slumped to the floor.

The Kid came forward, panting.

‘Maybe I can build a rep on that instead!?’ he jeered. ‘Not so cocky now, are you, pig bastard!’

He kicked Heck over onto his back, and knelt astride his body to search it. He didn’t notice Heck’s right hand close on the handle of a claw-hammer. He didn’t even notice the hammer — until it was whistling up towards his left temple.

SMACK!

The meaty impact echoed across the cellar.

The Kid dropped like a sack of potatoes, his head striking the concrete.

It took several agonising seconds for Heck to haul himself to his feet. He extricated the gun from the Kid’s hand, tucked it into his waistband, and then yanked open the shirt he’d been wearing to check the Kevlar vest beneath. The two flattened slugs were still lodged in it.

‘Much as I enjoyed your flash suit, Deke,’ Heck said to no one in particular, ‘I enjoyed your underwear more.’

He worked the slugs loose and dropped them, though even that was painful — no doubt there’d be bruises the size of dinner plates underneath. He turned back to the Kid, who was still unconscious. ‘And just who the hell, I wonder, are you?’

He searched the Kid’s clothing, finding, among other things, a mobile phone, which he pocketed, and a leather wallet containing a number of credit cards. It seemed the name the Kid was currently going under was ‘Brian Hobbs’. If that was a fake, it was a fake the Kid liked, because not only was that the name on his cards, it was also the name on his driving licence. Heck felt at the Kid’s throat, to check the carotid was still pulsing. It was, which Heck supposed was a relief.

He moved away, looking for a light. Finding a cord with a toggle, he pulled it and a bulb sprang to life. The cellar was larger than he’d thought, and quite orderly, apart from the area the two of them had just destroyed