‘ Nice,’ he said admiringly, ‘very nice.’
Once again, the big man moved faster than Kruger could have anticipated. He rose from his seat, wrapped a huge arm around Kruger’s neck, holding him there in a vice in the crook of his elbow, then stubbed the cigar out on Kruger’s face. When it was extinguished, he pushed Kruger away. The ice-bucket spilled and Kruger went down onto his knees, covering his horrendously injured face with his hands, moaning loudly.
‘ Take this fucker away and ice him,’ Bussola ordered.
Just how Danny managed it, Henry Christie wasn’t sure.
He could not conceal a smile when he entered the first-floor briefing room at Blackpool police station and saw the room packed with the officers she had managed to pull together for ‘Operation Trawler’.
The operation which, Henry hoped, would lead to the capture of Louis Vernon Trent.
There was a full police support unit from Preston (one Inspector, three Sergeants and twenty-one Constables). Not bad going by any standards. In addition there were six PCs from Blackpool and three Detective Constables from his own office. Danny had also managed to turn out seven Special Constables. There was a dog- handler and four PCs from the mouthed branch, dogs and horses being excluded from the room. Six plainclothes officers from the Targeting Team made up the rest.
All were swigging tea, coffee or orange juice and scoffing biscuits, thoughtfully provided by Danny. She stood by the briefing lectern at the front of the room, shuffling papers, happily taking charge of the whole kit and caboodle.
Henry was impressed by the turnout. It was just one of those days when everyone seemed to be at the other end of the phone. There were not many of those days in a year.
‘ Okay, people,’ he began, sliding in next to Danny. He rubbed his hands together. ‘Can I have your undivided attention, please?’ The room fell silent. ‘To those of you from outside the Division, welcome to Blackpool. Whilst you’re here, we’ll try to look after your needs to the best of our abilities; to our residents, we’ll try to look after you shower, too. For those of you who don’t know me, I’m DI Henry Christie and this is Danny Furness who’ll be running the show. And, not to put too fine a point on it, you’re here to hunt down a very, very dangerous individual indeed…’
By the time Henry Christie was saying those words, that dangerous individual had been up and out of bed for an hour. Although he had only got to bed at 5 a.m., the few hours’ sleep he’d had were adequate. Several years behind bars had whittled away his need for sleep. He woke bright and cheerful.
The owner of the guest-house, Mrs Mitcham, a lady in her early fifties, was extremely happy to cook Trent a late breakfast… at a price. Not being his own money, Trent paid gladly.
Outside, the weather was glorious.
Trent’s first objective was to extend his wardrobe again by buying some light summer gear. Then he intended to drift round town and go into a pub where he knew he could off-load the credit cards and driving licence he’d stolen from several unfortunate people the previous day. He’d take whatever price was offered. Probably about a hundred quid, he guessed — but before all that, he had a more urgent need to fulfil.
He used the phone in the guest-house to order a taxi which subsequently deposited him in Blackpool town centre just as Henry handed the briefing over to Danny.
Two behind. One either side. That was the formation. Each of them with a hand resting inconspicuously on the butt of some type of firearm or other, concealed by well-tailored clothing from the prying eyes of the outside world.
Kruger was the man in the middle.
Before they left the room, he was given instructions by Bussola.
‘ Okay Steve, you walk out of here nice and cool, okay? You walk them to your car and they’ll do it there, nice ‘n’ quick — promise. Bam! Bam!’ He pointed his forefinger at Kruger’s head and cocked his thumb. ‘Over in a jiffy… Now, you might well think that before you reach the parking lot you’ll try some fancy footwork as you walk through the airport, or even do something really rash — like attract some cop’s attention. Now, Steve, I gotta warn you, if you do, these nice guys will blow you away there and then — and any other simple fucker who so much as steps towards them. There’ll be a real bloodbath, at the end of which they’ll simply fade into the background.
‘ Just to reiterate: by behaving yourself and leading these fine gents to your wheels, you’ll save innocent lives.’
Bussola nodded at his men. ‘Okay, away you go.’
Kruger’s face and hand hurt bad where the burning cigar had been screwed into his skin, but these injuries were right at the back of his mind as he tried desperately to figure a way out of this predicament.
Whatever he did, it seemed, he was destined to die.
There was no time for niceties any more. There would be no building up of rapport. No sweeties. No laughter.
No love.
That was all in the past, before the betrayals had sent him to prison. Now the little ones he had loved so much had to suffer and feel the pain he was feeling. It did not matter that they would not actually be the ones who had gone to court and damned him. It was the principle that mattered now.
He had to make a point.
No one betrayed or hurt him and got away with it.
No one.
Trent was sitting on a green park bench in the recreation area adjacent to Claremont Road in the North Shore of Blackpool. Watching, waiting, listening, his senses buzzing, anticipating. Soon, he knew, his opportunity would come.
His eyes took in all the activity. Several youngsters were playing on the swings and slide. Most were accompanied by adults.
Trent’s lips snarled at the inconvenience.
He lifted up his newspaper, reckoning to be engrossed in it.
He could wait, despite the urges inside him.
They began the journey from the lounge to airport parking. Kruger felt as though he was walking on the moon. His legs became light and bloodless. The same pretty much applied to his brain.
Everything was completely unreal. Being walked through Miami International Airport to be executed — how real was that?
Everything blurred at the edges. His ears pounded like his head was inside a bass drum. People drifted by in a mist. Sound distorted, like a tape being eaten by a Walkman.
Kruger shook his head, opened his eyes wide. Then his mind picked up the pain again from the burns on his skin, a sensation it had been suppressing. This brought him back to sharp focus.
Back to the real world.
Suddenly the unreality of before seemed much more preferable.
Without doubt, Kruger was about to experience another of those Big Life Moments.
Chapter Ten
The shop was on Dickson Road, Blackpool, the road which runs behind the Imperial Hotel which is used each year as a base for political parties during conference week. The shop was one of those grocery-cum-everything shops which opened from 7 a.m. until extremely late. It was owned by an Asian family who had turned it into a thriving business by their sheer hard work.
Claire Lilton had the straps of her sports bag over her left shoulder, holding the bag underneath her armpit. She had a metal shopping basket in her left hand, leaving her right hand free. The zip of the sports bag was open
