‘Dunno exactly, but I couldn’t tell you even if I knew. The fewer people who know, the better, if you get my drift?’
‘Jesus, man,’ Bradley uttered.
‘But probably London. I can make a do there. Just disappear, y’know?’
Bradley shook his head.
‘I can get a job. I’m a grafter, you know I am.’
‘You were,’ Bradley corrected him doubtfully. The two boys eyed each other. ‘Despite everything in your life, you were.’
‘I got a crap deal,’ Mark whinged. ‘Beth dying, Jack getting sent down… Mum…’
‘I know.’
‘How are you going on with Katie?’
Bradley screwed up his face. ‘OK — ish. On the whole she’d rather be with you, I reckon,’ he admitted wistfully. They were talking about Mark’s ex-girlfriend who had ditched him unceremoniously when he’d started hanging around with Rory Costain and started going out with Bradley. It was a situation Brad obviously wasn’t completely comfortable with. ‘You lost a good ’un there,’ Bradley said.
‘Whatever… look, I need to be making tracks, mate. You are my pal and I know I’ve been a complete cock and I’m probably getting what I deserve, but I thought I’d just try and make it up to you a bit before I did a runner.’
Bradley’s right hand shot out. Mark eyed it, confused. ‘Shake, you tosser.’
The boys shook hands.
‘Hey, look, this might help a bit.’ Bradley stood up and took an old biscuit tin down from his bookshelf and prized it open. He pulled out a couple of ten-pound notes and offered them to Mark.
‘What?’
‘Take them. You’ll need some dosh.’
‘No, no, it’s right. I’ve got some. I’ll be OK.’
‘Every bit helps. There’s like three days’ food here if you’re careful… and you are my mate, Mark.’
Fighting back a tear, Mark took the money. ‘I’ll pay you back, honestly.’
‘Yeah, you bloody will.’
Mark stood up and embraced Bradley, then Bradley said, ‘Hey, if you’re not in a rush, how about a game on the Xbox — Call of Duty or something? We haven’t played for ages.’
‘Uh, yeah, OK,’ Mark said lugubriously.
Later, after an embarrassed thank you to Bradley’s mother for the food, he was back out on the streets of the estate, planning to head to the railway station. He was going to jump a train to Preston, the nearest mainline station, and from there get on the first train through, north or south, Glasgow or London. He wasn’t that bothered.
He jumped over a couple of backyard fences and emerged on to Shoreside Drive, aiming to cross that and go via the back streets into the town centre.
That was when the arm went around his throat.
‘Got yu, yu little bugger.’
For a moment Mark expected to feel the muzzle of a gun at his head, to have his brains blown out, to die in the middle of the streets, never having achieved a damn thing in his life.
Instead, beer-loaded breath wafted into his face from Billy Costain’s mouth.
‘Cops’re after you — an’ so am I,’ Costain growled. ‘You were with my Rory when he got murdered, weren’t you?’
Mark gagged. The crook of Costain’s arm crushed his windpipe and he could not have answered if he’d wanted to. Costain bent Mark double in a chokehold and it was as if his head was trapped in one of those seaside exhibits where punters poked their faces out through some cartoon character or other. He gurgled. Costain held tight as Mark attempted to prise his head free — without success. Billy was a big, strong guy and he’d battled and held bigger brutes than Mark.
Without much of a problem, Costain fished out his mobile with his left hand and made the first of three calls to the police. The first was to Henry Christie, which the detective didn’t get because he was in the lift. Costain had pre-programmed Henry’s number and that of the MIR phone line into his mobile.
Mark continued to struggle valiantly, gouging and kicking, but old man Costain was impervious to his assaults and clung easily to the lad.
After he’d spoken to Alex Bent in the MIR, then to Henry, Mark had sagged with the effort of trying to escape. His energy drained out of him and he hung in the crook of Costain’s arm like a bonfire night Guy.
Henry tutted at his PR, but held his tongue. Comms had told him there were no patrols available to make to Shoreside, all were busy. Sorry. There wasn’t much Henry could say to that. If the town was lucky, there might be about four patrols out there firefighting, and Blackpool was a busy place for cops.
Bent screwed the CID Ford Focus through the gears and streets, and only a few minutes after leaving the cop shop he was turning on to Shoreside, then on to Shoreside Drive which was the main spine running through the estate.
Henry spotted Costain and the figure of Mark Carter about fifty metres ahead. Bent drew the CID car in alongside them. Both detectives climbed out, Henry with a triumphant grin on his face. He shone the beam of his penlight torch into Mark’s face as he looked up from the headlock.
‘It were only a matter of time before I caught him,’ Costain said.
Henry put his hands on his knees and looked at Mark. ‘Now then, young fella me lad, I’m going to ask Mr Costain to let you go free, OK? And if you even think of doing a runner, I’ll flatten you. Got that?’
‘Get this ugly git off me,’ Mark growled.
‘Only if you say you won’t run.’
‘I won’t bloomin’ run, OK.’
Henry raised his head to Costain and out of the corner of his eye he spotted a car cruising down the road towards them, but did not give it much credence. He gave Alex Bent a ‘Grab him’ gesture and the DS took hold of Mark’s right arm. Costain slowly released his grip when he was certain that Bent had got hold of the lad.
‘I found out who Rory was hanging about with,’ Costain said, sticking a roll-up into his mouth and lighting up. ‘Then it were just a matter of nabbin’ him.’ He chuckled. ‘Make a good cop, me.’ He inhaled then brew out acrid smoke.
‘What d’you want me for?’ Mark protested, still squirming in Bent’s grasp. ‘I’ve done nothing. This is not fair.’
Henry sighed. ‘Fair? Fair is a place where you go to ride on rides, eat cotton candy and step in monkey shit, and, as corny as it sounds, Mark, you can do this the hard way or the easy way. Whichever you choose, you’ll be coming with us.’
‘Oh yeah?’ Mark responded impertinently.
‘Don’t give me a hard time.’ Henry wagged at finger at him. ‘I need to talk to you about some serious crimes, don’t I? Not least of which are two street robberies.’ Henry gave him a pointed look.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘And the fact you’ve witnessed two murders, one being that of your mate, Rory.’
‘Crap. Still don’t know what you mean.’
The car that had been crawling along accelerated. Everyone’s head jerked in its direction as the engine screamed.
It was a Volvo. With the passenger side nearest to the kerb.
Henry ingested it all in a split second.
The big car hurtling towards them. Two dark figures in the front seats, both bulky, definitely male, their features unrecognizable because of the main beam of the headlights putting them in shadow. And the man in the front passenger seat leaning out of the fully open window with the evil black shape of a Skorpion machine pistol in his hands, aimed at the foursome.
Henry, Mark, Bent and Costain were on the footpath, maybe ten metres ahead of where the CID car had been parked. Immediately behind them was a pair of semi-detached houses, both unoccupied and boarded-up.
Even then, a simultaneous thought in Henry’s head said, ‘Thank God for that. At least no residents will be
