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‘I am,’ Jevon said, lining up a pot. ‘Two frames to nil.’

  Rolling his eyes, Derek said, ‘Only ‘cause I’ve got shit on my mind.’

  ‘I’m going for a walk,’ Chris stated. ‘Either of you losers wanna come?’

  ‘Where are you going this late?’ Derek asked, checking the time on his mobile phone. ‘It’s pushing eleven thirty.’

  ‘Wanna get some fresh air,’ Chris replied. ‘Stretch my legs.’

  ‘D’you think that’s wise?’ Derek said. ‘Given everything that’s happened.’

  ‘I’m not gonna become a prisoner in my own home,’ Chris said. ‘No matter what’s happening.’

  ‘You’re going no matter what I say, aren’t you?’ Derek said.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Derek said. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

  Chris said, ‘Thought you might say that.’

  ‘What about our game,’ Jevon moaned. ‘We’ve just started a new frame!’

  ‘We’ll finish it tomorrow,’ Derek said. ‘Get Willis or Nelson down here, if you can’t wait.’

  They were upstairs, crashed out on the settee, watching a movie. The God Father, of all things.

  ‘I love my bro’s to bits,’ Jevon said, ‘but they've never played before.’

  ‘The game’ll have to wait ‘till tomorrow, then,’ Derek said.

  He and Chris made for the door.

  ‘I’ll lock you in,’ Derek said to Jevon. ‘Just to be safe.’

  Jevon shot him a look. ‘Pffft!’ he exhaled. ‘You don’t need to worry about us. We’ll be fine.’

  ‘Don’t doubt it for a second,’ Derek said. ‘But I’ll lock you in anyway.’

  ####

  Parked down the street, in a Cherokee Jeep, Quinn watched from the driver’s seat as two niggers exited 147. At first, he thought they were going to come his way. He got ready to duck beneath the dashboard. Told the three men he was with to be prepared to do the same. Then the niggers went the other way, disappearing from view.

  Quinn had a knife in his lap. He smiled in anticipation of what lay ahead. Fun times. The sort of shit that made the job worth doing. That and the money, of course.

  The guy behind him had a machete.

  The guy riding shotgun was armed with a crowbar.

  Ditto the guy to his rear.

  ‘Good times are going to roll,’ Quinn said, getting out.

  ####

  As far as Ward could see, there was only one way he could get away. He had watched the reality TV show Traffic Cops and noted that, most of the time, the criminals evaded police in built-up areas. Plenty of places to hide. Crowds to mingle into. Out in the open, you were fucked. The helicopter’s infra-red tracked the target until officers had the perp boxed in. Then they’d pounce, pinning him (or her, sometimes) to the floor. Clean and efficient. Handcuffs on. Off to jail with you. Another one off the streets. But that wasn’t going to happen to Ward. No way.

  Mildred hadn’t spoken since Ward’s threat. She had done plenty of blubbering, plenty of crying. Which was fine. Ward could cope with that. It was the grating sound of her voice he couldn’t take. He felt sorry for her husband. Thought he’d be doing him a favour by cutting her throat. Old fella would have some peace for what little time he had left, Ward figured.

  The police were still on his tail. In his mirrors, he could see a trail of blue lights stretching back into the night.

  He had expected to meet head-on opposition, but hadn’t. The blue lights near the town seemed to be stationary. Not moving. It was like the police were waiting for him. And then Ward realised: a stinger, he thought. They’ve laid a stinger. There were no side roads to duck down. Only one way to go – dead ahead.

  Ward passed a sign: WELCOME TO CAVERSHALL – PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry,’ Mildred said, trembling. She looked at him, eyes wide with fear. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I wasn’t talking to you. And what did I tell you would happen if you opened your gob again?’

  Ward checked himself out in the rear-view mirror. Still looking good. Still in control.

  ‘You can’t hurt me!’ Mildred said. ‘You’re too busy for such distraction. Your number's up and you know it. You … you weirdo!’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t need this distraction.’

  Taking his shackled hands off the steering wheel for a split-second, Ward picked the knife up off his lap and jabbed it into her throat. Fluid. Quick. Efficient. As he pulled the blade away, blood spurted out, speckling his cheek. He put the knife back in his lap. Armed his face clean. Casual and business-like. As if he had done a mundane, everyday task. Mildred gurgled, open-mouthed, choking on her own blood. She placed a hand over the wound, trying to stem the flow. Slumped to her left, gasping for breath.

  And now Ward could see them. Up ahead. Two police cars: one on the left, one to the right. He could even see the officer with the Stinger. Knelt by a bush, waiting. Ready to deploy. Trees lined both sides of the road. There was no way Ward was getting past the trap without attempting something drastic. So he did.

  He slowed the car a little, assessing the situation. Then, with a toothy grin spreading across his face, he sped towards the officer. If Ward was going down, he wanted to take a pig with him. At least one. Ward saw the terrified look on the officer’s face in the Fiesta’s headlights as he whipped the Stinger out, across the road. Like a magician doing a hey-presto trick. The officer dived for cover, through the trees. Missing him by inches, Ward ploughed the Fiesta into the police car, smashing it out of the way. He heard and felt the Fiesta's tyres on the passenger side burst. First one, then the other. As he accelerated away, he looked in his rear-view mirror and saw the police car spinning off the road. He smiled. But that smile disappeared as the Fiesta dragged towards port side. Pulling hard over on the steering wheel, he fought to keep from crashing through the trees. He straightened the car up. Continued on into town, down the high street, at a much-reduced speed. To his left, steel grated against tarmac. Sparks flew.

  Time to bail out.

  Looking around, Ward cased out the best place to stop. He noticed a twenty-four hour supermarket. He parked up. Hid the knife up his sleeve. Got out. Without even a backwards glance towards Mildred, he took off across the street, heading for the entrance. The ever-present helicopter was above. Still stalking him. And, of course, his four-wheeled pursuers were bearing down, sirens wailing, lights flashing.

  Ward disappeared inside. Up an aisle, past fresh meat and dairy products. Making his way towards the back of the store. Because it was so late, the place was nearly empty. He passed a few people, who gave him wary looks. They moved out of the way of the sweaty, heaving, handcuffed man in prison greys.

  Finding some stairs, Ward descended them, three at a time. Almost lost his footing near the bottom. Through another door he went, into a huge underground car park. No time to think. Just act. In minutes, the police would have the place surrounded. Locked down. Ward’s small frame of opportunity was melting away.

  He saw a woman in a black suit getting into a red Punto and walked towards her. She closed the driver’s door. Started the engine. Clipped her seatbelt on. Climbing in the back, Ward grabbed her from behind and put his knife to her throat.

  Inhaling the brunette’s perfume, he issued the threat: ‘Get us out of here. Scream and I’ll slitcha throat. Yeah?’

  ‘Ye … yes,’ she managed to say, eyeing him with big, wide eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘Don’t hurt my baby. Please don’t hurt my little Oscar.’

  Ward looked to his left and saw baby Oscar, who gave him a toothless smile, arms flapping excitedly.

  ‘Gemme out of here and he’ll be fine,’ Ward promised.

  He eased the knife away from her throat. With the baby next to him, she wasn’t going to do anything silly.

  ‘Okay,’ the woman said. ‘Okay-okay-okay.’

  The gear-box crunched as she found reverse.
Then she backed out. Headed for the exit.

  ‘Faster!’ Ward said. ‘Andale, bitch!’

  The woman did as instructed.

  They pulled out of the car park and Ward saw police vehicles coming from the right.

  ‘Left!’ he said. ‘Left, bitch!’

  Again, the woman did as instructed.

  As they got farther from the supermarket, the sound of sirens and whoosh of the helicopter began to subside.

  After a few minutes it became dilemma time for Ward. On one hand he wanted to get as far away as possible before ditching his ride. On the other he knew that staying in this car would be folly. He had seen the CCTV cameras at the supermarket. It was only a matter of time before the police began hunting for the red Punto. With that in mind, he started looking for a spot to pull over. He needed somewhere out of sight, hidden from view. Somewhere the Punto wouldn’t be discovered for a while.

  They drove out of Cavershall, along A and B roads, heading towards Crampton Mills. The brunette told him this was a small town, little more than a village. Not much good to Ward. There wouldn’t be many places to hide a vehicle there.

  ‘I couldn’t get him to sleep,’ the woman said, her voice jittery. ‘That’s why I took him to the supermarket. A ride around normally gets him off. Something about the car's motion. It soothes him.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Okay-okay-okay.’

  Ward kept checking behind, expecting to see blue lights. Any time now he was sure he would hear the helicopter, too.

  ‘Please don’t hurt my baby,’ the woman pleaded, eyeing him again in rear-view mirror. ‘Do what you want to me, but please don’t hurt my Oscar.’

  ‘The only way this is going to work out well for you and your runt is if you keep your trap shut. The last whinge-bag who ran her mouth got this blade in the neck.’ He held it up so the woman could see it. ‘So you might want to bear that in mind. Am I getting through to you here, missus?’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman replied, averting her gaze back to the road. ‘Okay-okay.’

  Oscar giggled. Blew a raspberry. Farted. Seemed to be enjoying the ride.

  Looking ahead, Ward saw a big structure on the left. Couldn’t make out what it was at first, in the darkness. But as he got closer, it became obvious: a barn. There was nothing near it. Perfect.

  ‘Slow down,’ he commanded.

  The woman did as she was told.

  Noticing a wooden gate, he instructed her to pull over in front of it.

  Again, she did as she was told.

  ‘Now go and open the gate. If it’s locked, smash through it.’

  The woman got out. Checked it. Came back.

  ‘It’s locked,’ she said, reversing the car, lining it up.

  The gate looked old and rickety in the Punto’s headlights. As if it would give way, no problems. And it did. The woman glanced back at Oscar, a sorrowful expression furrowing her brow. Then she focused her attention on the task at hand and put her foot on the accelerator. The car smashed through. They continued on along a dirt track, lurching from side-to-side over potholes. Noting how overgrown the track was, Ward figured it hadn’t been used for some time, which was good.

  As they neared the barn, Ward said, ‘Pull inside and stop. Tuck your ride over to one side; I want it as hidden as possible.’

  Once more, the woman did his bidding.

  The barn was no more than a two-sided wooden shelter with a corrugated roof full of holes. Ward was sure it would come down in a heavy gust. Just give up and fold in on itself. Apart from a few rusted pieces of equipment, the place was empty.

  The woman killed the engine and lights.

  Darkness sucked in around them.

  Then she said in a shaky voice, ‘What happens now?’

  ‘This!’ Ward said. Leaning forwards, he grabbed her. Tried to slit her throat.

  He didn’t manage it in one swipe like he thought he would. She struggled. Screamed. So he put his hand over her mouth while he worked. He sawed back and forth with the blade, until he cut through her carotid artery. Blood streamed from her neck. She stopped struggling. Went limp. Slumped over the steering wheel.

  Ward turned his attention to the baby, who was crying.

  ‘Quit it!’ he said. And Oscar did, much to Ward’s surprise.

  All he could see in the blackness was big eyes looking up at him. Then Oscar began crying again.

  ‘If I leave you here, eventually you'll draw attention,’ Ward said. ‘Annoying little noise maker.’

  Blood dripped from the blade as he held it up.

  ####

  Standing outside his house, Jack stared at the front door with mixed feelings of apprehension and bewilderment. The door was open, slightly ajar. He tried to convince himself that he had left without locking up. He could have forgotten to secure the place. Easily done, given that his mind had been on other things. But he was sure he hadn’t forgotten.

  He went to the door. Pushed it open. The frame was damaged, the wood around the lock splintered. Someone had been busy with a crowbar, it seemed. What Jack wanted to know was whether anyone was still in the house. Waiting and listening, he looked into the darkness of the hallway and rooms beyond.

  Call the police, his instincts told him. Then he thought of the officers who had questioned him and the idea lost some appeal. All of its appeal, in fact. Any confidence Jack had in the police had gone. The way the officers had acted when he’d described the attackers still bothered him.

  ‘If there’s anybody here,’ Jack said, ‘then you better get lost now, because I’m not in the mood for this shit.’

  He listened. Heard nothing.

  ‘I’m giving you one last chance to show yourself. If I have to come in and get you, it’s going to get nasty. Very nasty.’

  No voices, no footsteps, no creaking floorboards. If someone was in there, they were waiting for him to enter. Hidden. Ready to pounce.

  ‘I’m coming in and I’ve … I’ve got a knife,’ Jack said, his voice seeming foreign and distant, like someone else’s. ‘Last chance to leave!’

  He held back for a few seconds. Then …

  Stepping inside, he flipped the light switch, bathing the hallway in a reassuring glow. He checked the kitchen first. Turned the overhead fluorescent on. The strip pulsed to life. He opened the cutlery drawer. Pulled out the biggest knife he could find. The house was most likely empty, the intruders long gone. Best to check, though. Best to be sure.

  Moving from room to room downstairs, he turned on lights. Other than the front door, there was no sign of a break-in. Nothing was out of place. The 32” plasma TV was still on its stand in the living room. His laptop was on the dining table. No drawers or wardrobes had been emptied of their contents. Everything was where Jack had left it. Ditto upstairs. Which left only one possibility. Byron’s men had found out where he lived and wanted to finish the job.

  In a way, Jack was annoyed he had been out when they’d called. He was desperate to once more meet them. He wasn’t bothered if they cut him again, beat him up. Didn’t care if they killed him. He wanted a chance to hurt at least one of them (preferably Mr. Gold Rings: McCarthy).

  What would have happened if Eleanor had been home? He had visions of her being raped and battered. She could have popped in to pick something up. A bit of jewellery or item of clothing she had forgotten. Despite what she’d said to Jack, he still loved her. And he believed she felt the same way, despite his disfigurement. Love couldn’t be turned on and off like a switch. He went to punch the wall, then thought better of it. Meeting out retribution would be a stretch as it was, without a broken hand. He wanted to administer a lot of hurt. Wanted to do it now. But it was too late to do anything. Revenge would have to wait until morning.

  There was a bolt on the inside of the front door. Not a strong one, but better than nothing. At least it would stop someone strolling in. Save Jack from having to pile furniture against the door. He threw the bolt. Retired to bed. If the goons came again, he ha
d something shiny and sharp under his pillow. It was an hour before sleep finally took him.

  ####

  ‘Surely they must have him by now?’ Dawn said.

  Jenkins said, ‘If they haven’t, they soon will. He won’t get out of there without being caught.’

  They were in the rear of a squad car, en-route to the supermarket. The vehicle’s radio crackled and the helicopter pilot gave them the bad news.

  ‘We think we’ve lost him,’ he said. ‘We think we’ve lost the target.’

  ‘What!’ Dawn said, hardly believing what she’d heard. ‘How the hell has that happened?’

  The officer driving picked up the handset. Spoke into it. ‘Elaborate, please,’ he said. ‘How did you lose him?’

  ‘We saw him go into the supermarket,’ came the response, ‘but we haven’t seen him come out. Our men have checked the place thoroughly, from top to bottom. They can’t locate him. Shoppers reported seeing him heading for the exit that leads to the car park. Looks like he’s on the move again, either on foot or in a car. Probably the latter.’

  ‘Oh,’ Jenkins said.

  ‘Great,’ Dawn said. ‘What about the woman? Is she okay?’

  ‘Not good news, I’m afraid,’ the pilot continued. ‘She’s been stabbed in the throat, bled to death.’

  Dawn was glad she wasn’t at the farmhouse. Glad she didn’t have to tell Walter.

  ‘If I was in Ward’s shoes,’ Jenkins said, ‘I’d have jacked the first vehicle I could and taken another hostage.’

  The officer driving said, ‘That’ll be what he’s done.’

  ‘I’m sweeping the area now,’ the pilot said, ‘looking for anyone driving erratic or speeding.’

  ‘Good,’ Dawn said. ‘Keep me posted.’

  ‘Affirmative,’ the pilot said.

  ‘If Ward has taken a hostage, then someone’s not coming home tonight,’ Dawn said. ‘Which means we need to keep an eye out for a missing persons report. Anything comes through and I want to know about it immediately.’

  ‘I’ll keep tabs on that,’ Jenkins assured her.