have enough on his plate. ‘Any up-to-date connection between the two?’
‘ Haven’t got that far yet.’
‘ Who else knows about this?’
‘ Just me.’
‘ Keep it that way for the time being.’
‘ Reet, boss.’ She was unfazed but she’d had longer to get used to the idea than Henry, who now found he wanted a drink.
‘ C’mon, let me buy you a pint,’ he said. Kate and his bed would have to wait just a little while longer.
Chapter Ten
Doctors are supposed to have a sensitive touch, but the consultant who, at ten o’clock the next morning, was probing along John Rider’s ribcage with fingertips like pieces of dowling must have been the exception that proved the rule. Rider flinched each time he was touched.
After the ribs the doctor moved to the skull, handling it like a rugby ball. Equally roughly he pulled up Rider’s eyelids one at a time with his thumb and shone a penlight torch into his pupils. Then he listened to Rider’s heart and lungs by planting a stethoscope on his chest which felt like it had been left in a freezer. The doctor made a few muttered comments about giving up smoking and drinking or death would not be far away. After this he tested Rider’s blood pressure — which was extremely high — with a tourniquet so tight Rider thought his arm might drop off.
The consultant stood up and sniffed haughtily. A nurse handed him a set of X-rays which he held up to the light and inspected. He hummed, muttered to himself and handed them back to her.
Then he regarded Rider over the frame of his pince-nez which were balanced precariously on the tip of his bulbous, pitted nose.
‘ How do you feel?’
‘ Like shit,’ said Rider honestly.
‘ Only to be expected. You had a rather severe beating, but although you’re black and blue, it doesn’t seem to have done any permanent damage. Two of your ribs are broken, but they’ll heal in their own good time. Your spine is bruised, but will improve once you get mobile. And, of course, the cheekbone under your left eye is fractured. The rest is superficial bruising. Your skull is OK. The reason you were kept in was because you passed out. Basically, you’re fine. The most dangerous thing for you at the moment is your blood pressure and the state of your lungs. Give up smoking, Mr Rider. It kills, especially at the rate you smoke.’
‘ I know, I know.’ Rider sulked like a schoolboy.
‘ You don’t wish to make a complaint to the police, I hear.’
‘ No. Wouldn’t be any use. They had balaclavas on.’
‘ Your decision,’ said the consultant. ‘But you really must cut back on the fags — that’s my medical advice to you.’
Rider nodded.
‘ You are now discharged from hospital.’
Isa and Jacko collected the invalid twenty minutes later and helped him down the corridor to the car park where the Jag was waiting. Rider rolled painfully into the back seat and Jacko drove him back to the basement flat. Throughout the journey Isa leaned back over the front seat and looked with concern at Rider who winced with every bump they hit.
Between winces, he glared back at her accusingly.
‘ You’re going to do something stupid, aren’t you,’ she said bluntly. ‘I can see it in your face.’
‘ Depends on your definition of stupid.’
‘ My definition? OK — my definition of stupid is someone who can’t control his emotions, someone who has done well for himself and dragged himself out of the gutter of violence, but then steps back into it at the first opportunity because he wants revenge. That’s my definition of stupid — an idiot who wants revenge because that’s all he understands. That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it? Get revenge.’
He said nothing with his voice, but his expression said yes.
She closed her eyes in despair and held back the tears because she didn’t want him to see her cry.
‘ Please don’t do it, John,’ she appealed quietly. ‘There won’t be any winners from it.’
‘ Isa,’ he began with a dangerous tone, ‘those two guys nearly fucking killed me. All they needed to do was say to me, “Don’t get involved”, that’s all. I didn’t actually need telling, truth be known. I wasn’t going to get into some fucking gang war that has nothing whatsoever to do with me. But they went well OTT. They were fucking out of order. There’s no way I’m gonna let this pass. No way. Jacko — turn in here.’
‘ Eh? The zoo, you mean?’
‘ Yes, the fucking zoo I mean, you moron,’ he growled.
‘ But why?’
‘ Will you just do what you’re fucking told to do! I want to see if that gorilla’s OK — all right?’
‘ Anything you say.’ Jacko slowed the car and headed up the driveway to the zoo. ‘Barmy if you ask me,’ he mumbled.
Despite the agony attached with movement, Rider leaned forwards between the seats. His mouth was only inches away from Jacko’s ear. ‘If you ever call me barmy again, Jacko, I’ll fucking kill you. D’you understand?’ he rasped hoarsely.
Isa stared at him, completely dumbstruck.
Jacko’s mouth dropped open. He didn’t dare look at Rider. As a barman, the same threat had often been uttered to him by drunken, violent customers, but it had meant nothing. Rider’s words, however, shook him to the core. He was very frightened of the man who was now his boss.
Rider gave Isa a warning glance and leaned back in the leather seats. His face bore the beginning of a sneer. His top lip quivered. His eyes seemed to change to deadly, emotionless orbs. There was a cruel, determined look on his battered features. A look that Isa hadn’t seen for ten years, one she had never wanted to see again, one which meant deadly trouble.
He had metamorphosised before her eyes. He had reverted to type.
Rider looked out of the car window, his nostrils flaring angrily. He was aware of the change, too. Like a monster had been reawakened inside him; or some dreadful death-bearing virus, perhaps. Part of him wanted to fight and neutralise it, to destroy it for ever, but it was growing with every second, becoming an unbeatable force, taking over his whole being and personality, driving him on.
A force that meant he would extract revenge.
The worst thing about it was that he was quite enjoying the sensation. Rather like injecting a controlled drug. Something he knew he shouldn’t do, but once it was done and the euphoric sensation was creeping through his veins, it was great. Like he’d been asleep for ten years and had now risen from the ashes.
Those bastards didn’t know what they’d unleashed.
He saw the tears forming in Isa’s eyes. Ignored them.
But before he went over the edge, there was one last good thing he wanted to do.
About twenty minutes after seeing John Rider, the consultant visited another of his patients on the morning round. The name of the patient was Shane Mulcahy and two days before, the consultant had been forced to remove a severely damaged left testicle.
Throughout Shane’s short stay in hospital, the only period he had been quiet and pleasant was when he’d been under general anaesthetic. Otherwise he had proved himself to be the stereotypical lout, minus the lager. Nothing was good enough for him. The food was ‘shite’. He would have preferred beef burgers and chips all the time. He was rude to the nurses, whom he called ‘tarts’, to the doctors, of whom he was slightly afraid, and his fellow patients, who he thought were all silly old bastards.
In short, he had been a complete arsehole.
