Kissed by Fire
By
Albie Benson
Copyright 2011 Albie Benson
Smashwords Edition
License Notes
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Contains strong language.
Monday 19 August. 0920hours.
A shaft of sunlight punched through the dark clouds surprising all as its beam illuminated the solitary figure sauntering up the road.
Mary could hardly believe it, as if a supernatural entity had turned on a spotlight. She shook her head. ‘My God, what does he look like?’
The corners of Ernie’s mouth turned downward: ‘A luminous condom. What’s he playing at?’
Heads turned as the figure passed them. World-weary bizzies, pointing their matt-black Heckler-Koch semis towards the little post office, smiled as the figure waved and nodded, acknowledging all.
The tension, for a moment, lifted as he changed his pace, walking in time to Diana Ross and the Supremes singing You Can’t Hurry Love on his ipod. He made his way to Ernie and Mary, high fives with bizzies on the way.
‘Ernie, Mary, what’s happening?’ the figure asked, his voice deep, as if coming from the cavern of his chest.
Ernie could not hide his contempt and turned away.
Mary looked, he had that quality that the clothes could not hide, reminding her of a lion surveying its territory. ‘I’d get down if I were you sir, one’s armed with a handgun, the other a knife.’
Ernie decided to speak: ‘Five hostages. They would’ve ran out but a plod was on the other side of the road, they saw him and dived back inside.’
The figure elaborately swept back his shiny coat, his feet apart, put his hands upon his hips and looked towards the post office. The tune was still playing because, although his feet were planted firmly on the ground, his legs moved in a slow dance: ‘So they panicked? Who’s the uniformed officer?’
Ernie pointed: ‘Inspector Ashton, over there.’
He nodded and casually two-stepped over, his arms swinging loosely, his fingers snapping, followed by the ducking Ernie and Mary.
The criminals, at this moment, could have walked out and escaped because all the armed officers were watching the figure.
He stood before Inspector Ashton, removed the headphones and gave a wry smile; ‘Dick, how’s it going?’
Ernie and Mary ducked down behind a car as the figure and Inspector Ashton, in full view of the post office, began a conversation.
‘God, Chief Inspector Leo Swan,’ he shook his head both in amazement and disgust, ‘when did you come back, and where did you get that outfit, car boot sale at the Empire theatre, they selling off the old costumes from Aladdin?’
Mary studied them, their animosity was almost tangible, the hostility like two live wires being struck together. Every officer was looking, their hatred of one another legendary.
‘Dick, you are fuckin’ hilarious,’ Leo answered.
‘Are you sure you wasn’t shot in the head and not the stomach?’
The insult hit the spot, and Leo moved.
Ernie sprang inbetween them, stopping Leo.
Leo slowly shook his head, then gave a little smile, turned and studied the front of the post office. ‘Have you made contact yet?’
Ashton could hardly contain his repugnance. ‘I’m handling the situation. Besides, I’ve called in a negotiator and a psychologist from Liverpool University.’
Leo moved in closer, ‘And how long will they be?’
‘They’ll be here soon, so you may as well exit stage left and rehearse your lines for the next panto.’
‘Don’t push your fuckin’ luck, the Major Crime Unit is on the scene now, and I’m the senior officer, and don’t forget it.’ Leo held out his hand and Ashton slapped down the mobile phone.
‘Oh, petulance.’ Leo, holding out his hands like Michael Jackson about to start his dance routine, did a perfect about-turn on his heels, his shiny coat flaring around him, and sauntered to the post office. He stopped about ten feet away from the window and put the mobile in between his teeth, made an artist’s rectangle with his hands, then began measuring the window with his thumbs.
Six miles across the city at the Mounted Division Inspector Maureen Doyle’s foghorn voice silenced the room, ‘Right, enough faffing about, Harry broke his ankle playing football at the weekend so I’ll be driving the four, Paul, you’re driving the six, you take Jimmy and Irene, Sefton Park. Sandra and Peter, Susie and Anita, Liverpool city centre. Oh, by the way, stay clear of Lewis’s, seems there’s an undercover shoplifting op going on. Karen, Lynn, you’re with me, Calderstones Park. Nikki, seeing as it’s your first time, you and Charlie, I’ll drop you off at the back of Lord’s superstore, then a nice easy ride through Otterspool Park and along the prom.
‘Remember people Monday morning, practically a training day. Right, let’s move.’ Maureen turned, then stopped as she remembered something, and clapped her massive hands, ‘A reminder, Liverpool are playing Newcastle on Saturday. Liverpool say they expect five thousand Newcastle supporters, that’s not counting the forty thousand Liverpool supporters. Also, we mustn’t forget about the Mathew Street Music Festival. Liverpool Council say they’re expecting three hundred thousand people over the four days. Everyone here at twelve noon, out by one, expect to work till at least ten.’
They began filing out, Jimmy stood to one side, waiting for her. ‘Aren’t yer riding today?’ his Scottish accent sounding like a horse dancing over gravel.
‘I’m driving.’
‘You’re only driving the four, yer can still ride.’
‘I’ve paperwork to do.’
‘All nice and tidy for the new commander?’
‘What’re you getting at?’
‘Me,’ Jimmy laughed, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness, ‘nothing. But the four’s usually left on site.’
She eyed him, watching his face for any sign of sarcasm, or was going to spring something on her; she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw a horse. ‘Today is different.’
‘Oh, why is that?’
‘I’ve got to a few things sort out.’
‘What would they be?’
‘Be careful you don’t fall over with that big nose of yours, you’ll never get back up again.’
Jimmy gave a nod, ‘Trying to hide yer fiddle?’
‘Jimmy, you’re dying to say it, go on.’
‘I did warn ye.’
She let out a long breath as Jimmy turned.
It promised to remain stiflingly hot all day as Maureen followed Jimmy across the courtyard. The police stables had been built just before the end of the nineteenth century, but they were still in immaculate condition, only the style of architecture gave their age. Maureen breathed in, she loved that smell, of horse, fresh hay, cleaned and oiled leather, with the barest hint of rotting horse dung wafting through the tall arch that led to the sand school.
The heat in the city centre would become practically unbearable later on, tempers would rise, traffic would snarl and lost tourists would be dropping. That wasn’t to mention the pickpockets, the shoplifters, the flashers, the weirdoes, thieves, car thieves, drug users, drug dealers and anyone else that thought Liverpool easy.
Maureen looked around, she was pleased, the horses looked fantastic, their coats gleamed with health in the sunlight, and her officers were smart. The loading of the horses was usually noisy, when ten horses and their riders were gathered in the courtyard and some of the horses became impatient, dancing on the spot, their steel shod hooves sounding like a quintet of demented drummers hammering at their kits. Some were always difficult to load, they didn’t like the undulating motion of the ramp as they walked up, nor the dark inside of the transport, but with Maureen’s thick hand giving them a whack they soon moved up and in.
Fifteen minutes later Paul, Maureen and the six riders had loaded the six, Charlie had already loaded and tied his horse into the four, Nikki was second. She knew Jack the Lad very well, she knew he’d dance and not want to go into the transport, but she, and everyone else, were ready. Nikki led Jack around in a large circle and back to the ramp, he hesitated, but Maureen and Charlie were behind him, their arms across his rump and gave a shove. Jack clambered noisily up the ramp.
Nikki breathed a sigh of relief as she led Jack to his position and tied him up.
She was tall with the build of a decathlon athlete, and had long wavy, sunset red hair, tied tightly back into a bun. Nikki was stunningly beautiful, but it wasn’t a cold beauty, she wasn’t conceited, but bubbly and attractive. She didn’t have any make-up on except for a bit of eye-liner and shadow. She stood on tip-toes and whispered into Jack’s ear, stoking his neck at the same time, ‘Jack, if you behave I’ll give you a whole packet of mints when we get back.
In response Jack seemed to lift his enormous head up and down as if nodding in agreement.
She looked into Jack’s brown eyes; they seemed to have a mischievous quality. ‘It’s a deal then.’
Maureen tapped her shoulder, ‘Don’t look so worried, I wouldn’t have paired you and Jack if I thought there’d be any problems. You’re a good horsewoman, you’ll be fine. Are you still okay for tonight?’
‘Sure,’ Nikki answered, smiling, ‘I’m looking forward to it.’
Ray Flynn had a face that would make a Pit-Bull look pretty, with a scar that ran from beneath his right ear to his right breastbone, but looks had never bothered Ray. What bothered him was if everything was going to go the way he planned.
The information the little creep down the superstore had given him was correct. Monday morning, the security van was due at ten thirty, the money from the weekend was ready to be transferred. Fifty thousand at least, said the little creep. Lord was a cheapskate, only used the most basic security, and the security office was only thirty feet from the front doors, the money would be transferred from the office at ten forty five, only two security guards, the manager and assistant manager, with two more guards at the front.
For the past two months Ray had been doing his shopping every Monday morning, it was as the creep said, but would it be fifty thousand?
He went to the sports bag, unzipped it and took out two sawn off, side-by-side, double-barrelled shotguns with their stocks hack-sawed down to six inches. He lay one down and opened the barrel of the other, it had two cartridges inside. He clicked it shut and checked the other. Satisfied, he looked inside the bag and took out a well used Smith and Wesson .38 revolver, fully loaded, that he’d paid five hundred pounds for in a Toxteth pub. The .38 had a long and much travelled history, it had fired more bullets, killed more people than most could imagine; but Ray didn’t know, nor care about that. Three pairs of black leather gloves, three black ski masks and three black bin bags, industrial strength, already opened and shaken. He put them back inside, then the guns and zipped it up.
Ray looked up as the bean-pole Terry Hamilton and ferret-like Gordy Miller entered. ‘Ready?’ Ray asked and led the way.
It took them thirty minutes driving to Lords Superstore, that included changing their car on the way. It was nearly nine fifty when they arrived and parked some distance away from the front entrance. All three were wearing the black leather gloves, their hands sweating from both nervous tension and the heat. Terry was the driver, Ray sat in the passenger seat with Gordy chain-smoking in the back. Ray had the sports bag on the floor in between his knees, he watched the double-doored entrance like an old Tom at a mouse hole.
It was nearly ten as Maureen drove the four-horse transport past the rear loading bay of Lords’ Superstore. She’d been cursing the traffic ever since she dropped off Karen and Lynn, and the idiot in the three-toner that had crashed into the taxi turning right off the Aigburth Road, and both drivers had left their vehicles and were yelling at one another, and bugger the traffic jam. She’d soon sorted them out, but that was another twenty minutes delay.
She parked to one side, and Charlie and Nikki were out quickly, their hard hats on and the ramp down before Maureen had even shut her door. They were keen to ride after being cooped in the four. Nikki brought Jack out first and Charlie eased his horse, Pencombe Pride, shortened to Pen, down the ramp. Their steel shod hooves, with hardened steel bumps to give the horses a better grip, rang around the loading bays. Nikki held the two horses as Charlie helped Maureen secure the ramp. Maureen gave first Nikki a leg up then Charlie. They both tightened the girths and make final adjustments.
‘See you back here about twelve thirty,’ Maureen said climbing into the four.
As Nikki and Charlie gently urged their horses into a slow walk Maureen drove off.
Charlie was happy, this was what it was all about, he loved riding, he loved police work, and why not combine the two? Sitting high on a horse gave him a sense of power. People looked up to a mounted policeman with admiration and friendship, they were the approachable side of policing, none of the guns, C.S. spray, riot shields. Yes, they had all that, their armour, their eighteen inch batons and shields, but only used them for riots, not like the back-up, God, he wanted out of that the very first day, cooped up in the back of a stinking van for hours upon end, enough to send even the most hardened copper around the bend. ‘Okay?’ he asked Nikki and gave her a reassuring smile.
‘Great,’ she answered, flashing Charlie a happy grin.
‘How do you fancy a little canter through Otterspool Park?’
‘Sure.’
They continued leisurely, guiding their horses to the far side to avoid an articulated lorry coming around the corner, and stopped as the lorry reversed into a loading bay. Jack jigged a bit as the driver gave the powerful engine a couple of throaty revs accompanied by synchronous black smoke before expertly guiding it backwards. Nikki soon calmed him, speaking gently and giving his right ear a rub. She noticed Charlie and Pen didn’t seem at all bothered by the noise and diesel stink.
She was feeling confident now, her pre-ride nerves shoved back where they belonged. This was what she’d spent these last months training for; sometimes being hollered at by Maureen, sometimes unseated and ending on her backside in the sand when Jack decided he wanted to do an about turn rather than jump the poles. It had all come together now, she was out on the streets, showing a presence, Jack looked terrific and she felt exhilarated.
The lorry driver turned off his engine.
Inside the little terraced post office five people were lying face down on the floor, surreptitiously glancing at the agitated Coxy standing behind the glass screened counter, firmly gripping the bag full of money, and waving a realistic replica .44 Magnum. He didn’t see himself as a criminal, more an adventurer, like the Saint, robbing the rich to feed the poor, namely him. One thing he forgot to mention to Steve was, this was his first major crime, a big step up from shoplifting.
On the customer’s side, Steve, who was definitely the less intelligent of the two, was having serious doubts about Coxy’s competence. This wasn’t his first robbery, but his second, having served three years for the first and out only two months before being talking into it by Coxy. He was holding the nine-inch abattoir butcher’s knife so tight his hand was white. Both were looking out at the colourful figure.
Steve was the first to speak: ‘What the fuck’s that clown doing?’
They watched as Leo took the mobile out of his mouth, turned and shouted. They couldn’t make out the words. Leo turned back and began pressing the buttons on the mobile. Suddenly the telephone rang.
Coxy snatched it up. ‘Who’s talking?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector Leo Swan.’
‘Listen shithead, we’re staying here until it’s dark, we want food and drinks, then we want an unmarked car, no, no, a helicopter, we’re taking the hostages, when we know it’s safe we’ll release them, okay?’
Leo couldn’t help but laugh, a helicopter, fuck me. ‘No, it’s not okay,’ Leo’s voice became loud and firm, reverberating off the terraced houses. ‘Procedures have changed, we don’t do this softly softly approach anymore, it costs too much money, besides, we’re too busy. All our armed officers have been trained by the SAS. We go in and go in hard, shooting anything that moves.’
Coxy’s voice went high, to the point he was almost screaming, ‘We’ll kill the hostages.’
Leo was calm, ‘Makes no difference to me, they’re not my relatives.’ He held the mobile about a foot away from his mouth and shouted, ‘Okay, suit up, get the gas-masks on, get the explosives ready, two squads, blow the window out, prepare to fire.’ Leo switched the mobile off with a flourish and like an older Michael Jackson part moondanced and part glided across the tarmac.
All the armed officers were confused, they turned to their nearest companion as if to say what, what does he want us to do? Ashton slowly shook his head and wondered, how ever did this freak get to be a senior police officer?
Coxy dropped the receiver and ran from behind the counter, his eyes wide with panic. ‘They’re coming in, they’re going to use gas, they’re going to shoot anything that moves.’ One must thank the gods that the .44 was a replica because he was inadvertently squeezing the trigger so hard and waving the gun around that he would have surely shot someone if the gun was capable of being fired.
Steve was confused: ‘What?’
‘I’m giving up.’
‘You said it’d be easy.’
‘They’re going to fuckin’ shoot us.’ Coxy ran to the door, opened it and threw out the replica .44, shouting at the same time, ‘I’m giving up, I’m coming out, don’t shoot, don’t shoot.’ He raised his arms high as he stepped out.
Behind Steve threw the knife, it clattered next to the replica, and stepped out, half hiding himself behind Coxy.
Suddenly the armed officers stood, their semis still trained on Coxy and Steve. ‘Armed police, stand away from each other.’
Coxy and Steve moved fast, scared shitless by the giant bizzie that was running towards them, pointing the gun in their direction.
‘Stand still,’ the deep voice seemed to resound off the wadi of terraced houses. ‘Put your hands behind your head and kneel. Kneel down, now, now, move, move.’
The police swarmed, throwing them to the ground, twisting their arms up their back, putting their knees into Coxy’s and Steve’s backs, hurting them, making sure the bastards remembered the moment of arrest, handcuffing them as other hands searched for concealed weapons. Two officers retrieved the replica and knife. Like pieces of carcass, they were roughly hauled up and marched towards a white van.
Leo stood in front of them, his hands on his hips, his teeth bright against his big smile. Ernie and Mary stood on his left and Ashton on his right. ‘I love it when we catch the baddies.’ He leaned towards them: ‘Shitheads.’ Then waved his hand. Quickly, they were bundled into the van.
Ernie and Mary went into the post office. Inspector Ashton turned about to walk, but Leo grabbed his arm, ‘It’s amazing what a bit of brain power can do.’
Suddenly Ashton went eyeball to eyeball with Leo, shaking his arm free: ‘Fuck off you black bastard.’
Leo stepped back and laughed, ‘Ohhh, racism Dick, you naughty boy.’ Then he changed, his lips curled back and he stepped in close: ‘What’s wrong, peeved because this black bastard was made Chief Inspector, given second in command of the M.C.U.?’
‘Fuck off,’ Ashton turned.
Leo grabbed his arm again, squeezing the bicep hard. ‘The invitation’s still open, fifteen rounds, you and me, anywhere you like.’
Ashton wrenched his arm away, did an about turn and marched off.
Leo noticed the officers looking at him and couldn’t resist it: ‘See you at the Pink Parrot Dick, don’t forget to wear your leather outfit, it makes you look so macho.’
Ashton continued marching, wishing that someday he would have the opportunity of sorting that bastard out, but knowing it would never be with brawn.
In Lord’s car park Ray glanced at his watch, ten twenty and chucked the half smoked cigarette out of the window. The money should be ready. He tapped Terry’s shoulder. Terry started the engine. Ray unzipped the sports bag, took out one shotgun and passed it back between the front seats to Gordy, who put it across his knees, hiding it with his arms and elbows. Ray took out the three ski masks and handed them out, then took out the .38 and gave it to Terry, who wedged it snugly in between his legs. Ray eased out the remaining shotgun, rested it on his lap and put the folded black bin bag into his pocket. Terry rolled the ski-mask up and fitted it onto the centre of his head, ready to pull it down to cover his face. Ray breathed in deeply and looked at Terry. ‘Go.’
Terry slammed the gear stick into first and drove towards the entrance. Ray and Gordy put their ski-masks on. Terry changed into second. Ray and Gordy had the masks on and were adjusting the eye-slits. Terry changed into third.
Nikki spoke as her and Charlie were riding around the side of the superstore, ‘Jack’s a great horse.’ Nikki loved Jack, okay, at times he was cantankerous, sometimes he wouldn’t do as he was told, but he was lovable, ready to lick her hand, okay, it was the salt he licked, but that was besides the point. Jack was the joker, neighing and showing his teeth for a stoke, kicking the door for another mint, complaining when his hay and oats weren’t in his stable ready for him.
‘Yeah, bit unpredictable at times.’
Terry slammed on the brakes and the car screeched to a halt in front of the main entrance. Ray was out first, threatening the few shoppers who froze. Gordy followed, waving his shotgun at anything that moved and ran into the front entrance. Terry had pulled his mask over his face and was out, pointing the .38. He ran to the entrance and held the doors open, staying on the threshold so he could cover both the inside and out.
The shoppers were petrified.
Ray ran inside.
‘D’you know,’ said Charlie, ‘I hold the record for being unseated.’
‘How many times?’
‘I don’t know, I lost count after two hundred.’
Nikki laughed, ‘Two hundred?’
Gordy covered the two security guards who were holding an old lady who fainted and a shop assistant who was walking by. Ray ran towards the security room, followed by Gordy. Terry shouted, ‘Don’t move.’
No one did.
Ray kicked the door in and fired a single blast into the ceiling; the noise was like a thunderclap in the small window-less room.
The two security guards, the manager and the assistant manager covered their heads and fell to the floor as bits of white ceiling tile came floating down. Ray shouted, ‘Get down and stay down.’
They did.
Gordy was half in and half out, watching Terry and the other guards as Ray quickly took out the bin bag, whipped it open and began picking up the plastic money bags and shoving them in.
Nikki and Charlie were rounding the corner and about sixty yards from the front entrance. Charlie saw the dark blue car first. Something clicked, three doors wide open and three shoppers standing rock solid, another old man was walking backwards across the road, back towards the car park. Charlie stood in his stirrups. Nikki saw it and her alarm caused an involuntary adrenalin rush that electrified her from head to toe. Jack sensed this and began dancing, his millions of years of herd breeding, his capacity for sensing danger that no amount of training could subdue, told him to turn and run. He began backing, fighting against Nikki’s control, to him the car, with its doors open, was a predator. Nikki gathered in Jack’s reins to re-establish her authority.
Ray had filled the bin bag. ‘Go, go,’ he bellowed at Gordy.
Gordy ran towards the entrance. Terry saw them coming and moved his body outside the doors, but continued to hold them open. Ray ran after Gordy.
No one moved.
One of the security guards, an ex-soldier, his arms high in the air, couldn’t help but admire their teamwork.
Gordy stopped in the foyer as Ray ran past him and out.
‘Robbery,’ Charlie shouted and reached for his radio.
Nikki urged Jack, digging her heels into his belly, forcing her bum further into the saddle, and Jack sprang forward, his fear momentarily quashed as he was given orders.
Ray was first out of the door and heard the clatter of the hooves. About fifty yards away were two mounted bizzies coming towards him. ‘Move,’ he hollered at Terry and Gordy.
Terry was out second, heard the hooves and ran to the driver’s side.
Gordy ran out but stopped for that vital moment as he too heard the hooves.
Ray dived into the passenger’s seat.
Forty yards.
‘Armed robbery in progress,’ Charlie was shouting into his radio whilst pulling hard on Pen’s reins.
Conversely, Nikki again thumped her heels, her stainless steel ball spurs, into Jack ribs, urging him to go faster.
Thirty-five yards.
Gordy was pointing the sawn off towards Nikki as she forced Jack into a canter.
‘Nikki,’ Charlie shouted, as he realised she was rushing towards them.
Thirty yards.
‘Move it Gordy,’ Ray shouted.
Twenty-five yards.
Gordy didn’t move as half a ton of Irish Draught horse and a tall policewoman bore down on him. The noise of the steel hooves on the solid tarmac sounding like a twenty-one gun salute, the thunderous racket reverberating off the building making Gordy hold the sawn off tighter against the side of his stomach, pointing it at Jack and Nikki. He never expected this, Ray didn’t mention anything about a bloody great horse charging him. He said it’d be easy.
Twenty yards.
Two and a half years of police work should have cautioned Nikki, should have made her let the more experienced Charlie make the decisions. This wasn’t the same as when she pounded the beat, nor drove the patrol car, when she had more time to make decisions, when she didn’t have control of a responsive horse. She knew the same rules didn’t apply, Maureen had told her often enough, but she didn’t think, all she saw was a crime in progress; it was her job to stop that crime.
Fifteen yards.
As she saw the sawn-off, pulled hard on Jack’s reins, and pushed hard into the stirrups, she instinctively knew she’d made a fuck-up.
Ten yards.
Ray dived out of the passenger’s seat.
For a second Nikki thought he’d throw the gun to the floor; but he didn’t move, and she bore down on him. Jack straining at the bit, his superb fitness given an outlet of movement; the excitement of the moment; the shouting voices; the scream of the shopper; the clattering of the horse shoes and the high revving of the car engine, only served to energise Jack more, and make Nikki yank harder.
Five yards.
Gordy panicked and pressed both triggers.
Both barrels exploded into Jack’s breast and neck, the pellets gouging a hollow gash a foot in diameter.
‘No’ - Charlie shouted.
‘Stupid bastard,’ Ray cursed.
The bang and flash shocked Nikki.
Jack screamed in agony as he reared up, twisting, trying to escape the blinding hot torture. Then his back right hoof slipped on the smooth concrete, slid along under his body, and he toppled over onto his right side.
Nikki was frozen to her saddle, her hands gripped the reins, her legs clamped on Jack’s sides as he crashed onto his right side. Nikki should have jumped, should have taken her feet out of the stirrups and vaulted from Jack’s back, but her legs only gripped harder, and they went down as one, Jack’s great bulk squashing her right leg.
Ray grabbed Gordy’s shoulders and threw him into the back of the car.
Charlie urged Pen into a canter.
Terry had the gear lever in first and simultaneously pressed the gas hard and released the clutch, the car screeched off with tyres hidden by white smoke.
Nikki’s right leg was trapped under Jack, her right shoulder had smashed into the pavement, her hard hat protecting her from the juddering blow as her head whiplashed and bounced off the hard concrete, stunning her.
Charlie had radioed whilst still riding, ‘Officer shot, repeat officer shot, Lord’s Superstore.’ Help was coming as he stopped Pen and vaulted from its back.
One of the braver security guards came running over and Charlie handed him Pen’s reins and dived next to Nikki.
Jack was breathing heavily, kicking out his legs, vainly trying to stand, to get up and escape the sharp agonising pain.
A middle-aged female shopper would never forget the loud bang, the horse’s first scream of pain, nor its laboured breathing, nor the sight of the frothy blood bubbling out of its nostrils. She sobbed and turned, unable to watch anymore, and stood behind the scores of trolleys that were neatly concertinaed into one another.
Jack’s blood seeped onto the pavement, forming an ever-increasing pool of dark red. He was no longer kicking; it took all his strength just to breathe.
The woman turned again and looked, then she had to get away. She clutched her shopping bag to her breast and ran, wanting to escape, wanting to erase the sight of the injured horse and, most of all, the young girl trapped, from her memory; a memory that was re-calling the tragedy of her own daughter.
Nikki tried to move, she wasn’t sure what had happened, all she felt was a massive numbness, she couldn’t quite figure out what was going on, why she couldn’t move her leg and why Jack was breathing so heavily.
Charlie was next to her, in between Jack’s head and her, telling her to lie still, checking her white shirt for bloodstains. He ripped off her chequered tie and opened her collar.
Nikki tried to move; she didn’t realised her leg was trapped under Jack.
‘Where’re you hurt?’ Charlie demanded.
Nikki looked at him, at the security guards, the shop assistants, the shoppers who were standing and looking, staring, why, why were they staring?
‘Where’re you hurt?’ Charlie asked, this time more gently, holding her hand in both of his.
What’s happening, what’s going on? Her leg, hurting. ‘My leg.’
Charlie checked her left leg, it was okay, must be her right.
It was coming back to her, the shotgun, the loud bang, her freezing, being unable to move. She reached up and began to undo the strap holding her hard hat. ‘Jack,’ she began to sob, ‘what about Jack?’
Charlie grabbed her hand, ‘Leave your hat on. We’ll get you out first.’ Charlie stood and looked around at the three security guards and the manager. ‘You lot come here and give me a hand.’
They moved forward. Charlie’s voice was firm and commanding, ‘You,’ he said to the manager, ‘put you hands underneath her arms and pull when I tell you. You three help me lever the horse up.’
Maureen was driving to the Headquarters of the Operational Support Division of the Merseyside Police to see Chief Superintendent Harry Latimer when she heard the call. Not many people could u-turn a four-horse transport, albeit empty, in a busy Liverpool street with the speed and disregard for other road users that Maureen did. She ignored the honking, the shouting and the surprised looks of pedestrians as she wrenched the steering wheel faster than a sailor winching in the mainsail during a force nine, pressed her foot hard into the accelerator and headed back towards Lord’s Superstore.
Mary Johnson was driving with Leo Swan sitting in the passenger’s seat, they were heading towards Crosby, following up on an armed robbery in the town. He had to admit she was an excellent driver. He made his seat belt more comfortable and noticed the slight tremor in his left hand, making him fold his arms so Mary wouldn’t notice. Nerves, nothing to worry about, anybody would show some signs, especially after having two bullets in their guts.
He felt gratified, he’d shown that racist prick how to end a potentially dangerous siege, yeah, go on, wallow in your triumph, it’ll last exactly three seconds. Fuck, he was becoming paranoid.
The pair in the post office would have ran out eventually, he didn’t do anything, they beat themselves. Wrong Leo, stop criticising yourself, you stopped it, it could have gone on all day, you saved the Merseyside Police force thousands of pounds, not that he’ll ever see any of it, a well done is about as much as he’ll get.
Change the subject. He turned towards Mary: ‘Typical Monday?’
‘Is it sir?’
Change the subject. ‘You settling in okay?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Found a place yet?’
‘Yes, a nice two bedroomed flat in Sefton Park.’
Leo went quiet, staring at the dashboard, bad thoughts.
‘May I ask a question sir?’
Forget about it, nothing you can do. ‘Fire away.’
‘You don’t normally dress like that.’
‘No.’
‘Were you doing some undercover?’
‘No.’
Mary was going to ask more, but decided against it.
‘I’m making a statement Mary. Take the next left.’
They drove in silence, Mary hoping that he’d say more, but he seemed to have closed the matter. Mary decided to try another tack: ‘The post office sir?’
‘Yeah.’
‘How did you know it would work, I mean, they could just have easily called your bluff?’
‘Ernie said they saw a single bizzie walking past and ran back into the post office, so I figured if one made them panic that much, imagine what a whole team of armed officers would do. Most of them are pieces of.’
Leo was interrupted by the radio, the message chilled him, Officer shot, shit, shit, shit. ‘Turn around Mary, back to Liverpool, put the lights on.’ He subconsciously felt his stomach, fingering the deep scars, knowing what the officer was going through.
The store manager had his hands under Nikki’s arms as Charlie and the other three wedged their hands under Jack’s back.
‘Right?’ Charlie said, ‘One, two, three, lift.’
Four pairs of hands strained and lifted, Jack gave a grunt of pain as he moved a couple of inches. The manager pulled.
Nikki yelled, but was free, her knee length, black shinny leather riding boot half on. Charlie went and knelt next to her, taking her weight as she tried to sit up.
‘He shot Jack,’ Nikki said, unbelieving, but knowing it happened, her face blanched with shock.
A shop assistant ran out with a tartan car blanket and lay it over Nikki.
Suddenly all heads turned as the ear-piercing shrieks of many police and ambulance sirens heralded their arrival.
Nikki was only vaguely aware of Charlie’s strong hands supporting her, all she could see was Jack’s head and the pool of blood seeping by his ear, all she could hear was his exhausted gurgling and sighs. She reached over to touch him, to say sorry. ‘He shot Jack,’ she repeated, ‘Why?’
‘Don’t worry,’ Charlie answered, ‘the vet’ll be here soon.’
An armed response vehicle reached the scene first and skewed to a halt, the officers, Big Ted and Little Fred, straight from the Post Office, were out quickly. Big Ted took up a defensive position as Little Fred ran forward.
Then came two more ARV’s, two yellow and blue chequered transit vans, packed with back up officers. In the space of fifteen seconds the area was secure and the danger assessed.
A security guard ran to one of the officers and handed him a slip of paper with the robbers’ car make and registration number on. Within ten seconds the three armed response police cars roared out of the car park.
Two ambulances screamed into the car park but stopped about a hundred yards back, waiting, until called in by the police.
Inspector Richard Ashton, straight from the Post Office, took control, his arms like windmills, directing and ordering, and, it must be said, with an assured authority, taking control.
The police officers began shepherding people back into the store, already calming them and asking names and what they saw.
Two minutes later, Nikki’s right leg had been encased in an inflatable support and a neck brace securely fastened, but she was still laying on the floor, having edged closer to Jack, refusing to move until a vet arrived. She was half on her right side, the car blanket crumpled under her left leg, the red leg support stiffly next to Jack’s back, her head was resting on Jack’s neck behind his left ear, every time Jack tried to breathe she whispered into his ear, saying she was sorry, saying the vet would be here soon.
Charlie was kneeling next to Jack’s head, one hand on Nikki’s left shoulder, the other gently stroking Jack’s forelock. The senior paramedic was behind Nikki, trying to persuade her to leave Jack and let them take her to hospital. Around, the other three paramedics watched, at their side were Ashton and other officers, watching Nikki, watching the life ebbing from Jack.
They all looked up at the squeal of tyres, seeing the four-horse transport speed around a corner on two wheels. Maureen drove and skidded to a halt behind the ambulances. She was out and running, practically knocking three officers out of the way, but she slowed as she saw Jack, the enormous wound, the large pool of blood, Nikki with her left hand around Jack’s neck and Charlie looking up at her, his face pleading, the silent words saying do something Maureen, do something. Maureen ran behind Nikki and thudded on her knees, elbowing the paramedic out of the way. She looked at Charlie, who told her what happened.
‘Nikki,’ Maureen said gently, ‘you have to go in the ambulance.’
Nikki was sobbing, holding onto Jack’s mane, stroking his neck, saying she was sorry.
The vet was a local woman, her surgery two minutes down the road, she came out of her examination room hearing an hysterical middle-aged woman shouting about a policewoman and her horse being shot, she had grabbed her bag, extra stuff she thought she’d need, and drove. As she ran over, telling the police she was a vet, she could see the enormous red wound, the massive loss of blood, the horse having difficulty breathing, the frothy red bubbles forming every time the horse exhaled. She knew as she went to her knees, opened her bag and rummaged for the syringe and the large bottle of clear liquid, but she stopped as she saw the tears, the pleading in the young policewoman’s eyes, and knew, although it was pointless, that she would have to pretend to make some effort to save the horse.
The silence was tangible, like an oppressive mist that had settled on the watchers.
The vet took out her stethoscope. Why was she doing this, she wondered, it’s only prolonging the suffering? She put the stethoscope back and reached for the syringe and bottle, unscrewed the top, took the cover off the syringe and stuck the needle through the brown rubber seal.
Nikki watched, hoping it was some sort of painkiller, some sort of medication that would help Jack, that would stop the gurgling so he could breathe easier.
The vet filled the syringe, flicked it with her forefinger and felt along the top of Jack’s left leg. She stopped, her finger resting just over Jack’s muscle, and slowly inserted the needle.
Nikki watched the vet’s every movement, it seemed that the needle went into the chestnut hair and muscle too easily, as if it was a Hollywood film prop.
The vet pressed the plunger all the way home.
Jack was still, as if he guessed what was happening and welcomed the release from his suffering. His breathing became more relaxed, slower, until he gave one last sigh, one last big breath, then stopped.
Nikki felt Jack go completely limp, and she knew. ‘Oh Jack,’ she said and rested her head on Jack’s enormous muscled neck, her hand stroking his silken hair, her tears disappearing into his well-groomed coat.
As if to match their mood the sun suddenly disappeared and it went dark, dark, dull and grey.
Maureen stood and stepped back, alternatively watching Nikki, then the unmoving Jack. Her eyes caught the movement of the vet putting the cover back on the needle, putting the syringe into her bag and closing it, then her eyes rested on Jack. He was such a good horse, defiant yes, unruly at times, but he had a personality all his own. Perhaps she shouldn’t have allocated Jack to Nikki, but she was a good horsewoman, she thought they’d make a great team. The anger, like a giant blue whale powering its way to the surface, rose inside her, needing an escape. She stepped back and turned on the watchers, shouting, ‘What are you lot gawking at?’
Charlie gently eased Nikki’s arm from Jack’s neck, and helped the four paramedics lift her onto the stretcher. As they wheeled her towards the ambulance she looked back, she’d lost a friend, a good and faithful friend.
Charlie went to Maureen, who was standing, looking down at Jack, her left arm across her midriff, chewing the knuckle of her right hand.
‘Shall I go with Nikki?’
Maureen nodded, unable to speak.
Charlie could see she was holding back the tears. ‘Will you take care of Pen?’
‘Course. Where is he?’
‘Over there on the grass verge, a security guard took him out of the way.’
As the paramedics lifted Nikki into the ambulance she put her arm across her eyes and sobbed.
‘I’ll have to ring Baldock,’ Maureen said.
Charlie nodded and walked to the ambulance.
Two police officers had found a large dirty grey tarpaulin and spread it over Jack. Maureen told Baldock where to come, and as she was walking towards Pen the vet stopped her. Maureen noticed she was only a young girl, probably only just qualified.
‘I’m sorry about the horse, but I had no other option, the wound was too large.’
‘Of course, you did the right thing.’ Maureen reached into her pocket and took out her card. ‘If you would send me your bill, I’ll make sure it’s paid.’
She took the card and left.
Maureen took a deep breath and walked towards Pen. Fifteen minutes later she had Pen loaded and tied, the ramp lifted and secured, and knew she would have to leave soon to pick up Karen and Lynn. She hated watching them loading a dead horse, it seemed so callous, the chains, the winch, but that’s all Jack was to them, a dead horse, ready to be sold as dog meat.
A movement caught her eye and she noticed the young Chief Inspector walking towards her, smiling and holding out his right hand in greeting.
‘Inspector Doyle?’ he asked.
‘Yes sir,’ Maureen answered, taking the offered hand and giving it a good squeeze. She thought his beaming smile was inappropriate.
‘Chief Inspector Richard Lunt, I’m your new commander.’
‘So I believe sir.’ Maureen was trying not to but she was taking a dislike to him, he was too young, too smooth, he reminded her of an accountant, and he had a weak clammy handshake.
‘Really,’ Lunt said, removing his hand from Maureen’s powerful grasp, ‘I shouldn’t be taking over until next month, but Chief Superintendent Latimer decided I should begin my new job immediately.’ Lunt took out a handkerchief and began wiping his right hand, unconcerned about the impression he was giving.
Jesus, I haven’t checked the accounts yet. ‘Oh right sir,’ Maureen said, watching his meticulous drying and thinking if he’s so bothered about his hands what’s he going to be like with dollops of horse shit and a massive manure pile.
‘Bit of a cock up this,’ Lunt said, looking over at the tarpaulin.
‘What sir?’ Maureen asked, disbelievingly following his gaze.
‘She should never have tackled armed robbers.’
‘Oh,’ Maureen nodded, her anger resurfacing, ‘what would you have her do, turn around and ride off into the sunset?’
Lunt glared at her. ‘No, but I don’t expect her to get a very expensive horse shot and killed.’
Maureen quickly put her hands in her pockets, she didn’t trust them not to suddenly reach up, grasp his throat and throttle him until his eyes popped. ‘They didn’t shoot Jack.’
Lunt ignored her and continued staring at the tarpaulin. ‘Have you arranged for its removal?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘How am I going to explain this to Chief Superintendent Latimer?’
‘Why don’t you tell him how brave your officers were and they should be recommended for a commendation?’
Lunt looked at her to see if she was joking, but he couldn’t hold her gaze. ‘Have you removed the saddle?’
Jesus, she’d forgot all about that. ‘No.’
‘Right, take it off and meet me back at the stables.’
Maureen couldn’t hold back her anger any longer. ‘You do it, that’s if you know how.’ She turned and marched to the four. In the background she heard him calling. ‘Fuck you,’ she muttered as she climbed into the four and drove off, she realised Baldock would drop the tack off at the stables.
In the ambulance the paramedic had expertly put a line into Nikki’s left arm connected to a drip, she had taken Nikki’s blood pressure, opened her blouse and stuck white suction pads in specific areas connected to a heart-monitoring machine.
Charlie watched the red line on the monitor giving regular jumps.
Suddenly Nikki sat up and vomited over the white blanket, coughing as the bile burned the back of her throat. She tried to say sorry, but could only cough.
As she flopped back down the paramedic had a pencil torch and shone the beam into her eyes. Satisfied when Nikki’s pupils contracted, she carried on with her checks, quickly removing the soiled blanket and replacing it.
Charlie knew they had arrived when he felt the ambulance reverse. He looked at Nikki’s face, it was so pale that it reminded him of a marble bust. He had enough first aid training to know Nikki was in shock, her hard hat should have saved her from serious injury, but knew even a hard hat had its limitations. Charlie prayed it wasn’t serious, but knew at the very least Nikki would have concussion.
The paramedic disconnected the wires from the suction pads and left them in place, then the ambulance doors swung open and suddenly it was all movement, many hands, different coloured uniforms, Nikki was lifted down and wheeled in through the automatic doors. Charlie followed until a young nurse’s light touch guided him towards a reception desk, where he was asked the patient’s details. Then the receptionist left and he was standing alone, suddenly a small middle-aged male nurse, accompanied by two nurses stopped at his side, ‘Oww, like your boots and trousers, very huggy, very S and M.’ And he felt his cheeks burn, felt conspicuous in his uniform and hoped Maureen, Jimmy or someone would turn up.
Quickly Nikki was wheeled into an examination room where many expert hands set about removing her clothing, hardhat and riding boots. She watched with dismay as a massive male nurse began cutting her right boot off, she was going to stop him, to say hold on, I’ll pull it off, but he’d already started, and a doctor made her lie back as he shone a pencil torch into her eyes. Someone else took her hat off, another pair of hands put a cuff on her upper arm, a female head was bent over her chest, putting wires into the suction pads, before she realised, she was undressed, lying there in just her bra and knickers, with all these people touching her. Then they moved back and a massive machine was wheeled over her head. ‘Lay still,’ a male voice commanded. Then the buzzing noise and the machine was moved slightly, then another buzzing noise, and the machine was moved again, down to her leg. It was all so confusing, why couldn’t they just leave her alone so she could go asleep.
Mary drove Leo into Lord’s car park, and upon Leo’s instigation drove right up to the front doors where Ashton was standing.
Maureen took a right off Mather Avenue into Booker Avenue, then took a right into Allerton Road, and spotted Karen and Lynn about fifty yards to her right, just before the tennis courts. She knew something was wrong, both were dismounted, Karen was holding both reins and Lynn was checking Tosser’s right hind leg. Then she saw the white bandage and let off a stream of curses. She parked the four and jumped from the cab with a nimbleness that made a mockery of her size. Karen saw her coming and alerted Lynn.
‘What happened?’ Maureen growled.
Karen answered: ‘A courier driver cut on the inside of an artic, saw Lynn too late and caught Tosser’s hind leg with his bumper.’
‘Where is he?’
‘He drove off.’
‘Did you get his number?’
‘Too right,’ Karen answered, ‘that was the first thing I did.’
‘Good,’ Maureen looked down at Tosser’s hind leg.
‘How’s Nikki?’ Karen asked.
‘Taken to the Royal, I’m going there as soon as I drop you two off.’
‘Was she shot?’ Lynn asked.
‘No, Jack took the full force of the blast.’
‘God,’ Lynn said.
Maureen continued: ‘Took one hell of a fall though. Let’s get moving, I’ll ring Matt on the way.
Terry and Gordy were silent waiting for Ray to come in. Both knew Ray was angry, but what would he do?
Suddenly the door opened and Ray stood on the threshold. ‘Here.’
They stood and followed Ray into the kitchen. On the table was the money, both of them instinctively knew it wasn’t as much as they’d expected.
Quickly Ray turned and grabbed Gordy in a headlock, then Gordy saw the .38 pressed up against his temple and heard the hammer being pulled back, it sounded so loud, like a thunder-crack. Gordy couldn’t stop his bladder from involuntarily opening.
‘You stupid bastard.’
‘I’m sorry Ray, I didn’t mean to shoot.’
‘You fuckin’ useless idiot, you froze.’
‘Don’t kill me, please Ray, I’m sorry.’
‘The only reason you’re still alive is that I don’t want to scrape your brains off the ceiling.’ Ray threw Gordy away from him and Gordy crashed up against the kitchen units. ‘You make a ball’s up like that again and I will blow your head off. Get changed.’ Ray breathed out and put both hands on the kitchen table, staring down at the money.
‘How much Ray?’
‘Less than eight-k. Chicken feed. Fuckin’ bastard, I’ll kill that cunt of a security guard.’
Four pillows propped up Nikki, wearing a hospital nightgown, and neatly tucked in under white sheets and a washed green counterpane. For the umpteenth time she wiped her eyes with a tissue. She couldn’t stop crying, as much as she wanted, she just couldn’t stop the tears. It wasn’t the pain, although her head was banging and her leg and shoulder throbbed something awful, and the doctor wouldn’t give her any painkillers, it was the thought she’d gotten Jack killed. Oh God, why hadn’t she listened to Charlie, why did she kick Jack on? It was her fault, her stupidity. Jack was such a good horse, he had a personality all of his own, playing little tricks, giving you a slight nip on the bottom as you tightened his girth, picking up his feeding bucket and holding it over the stable door like an enormous Oliver Twist asking for more, with those big brown eyes half hidden by his eyelids. Of course she’d give him a handful more, then he’d bang on the bottom of the door, neigh and shown his teeth, as if saying where’s my afters, and she’d show him the apple and say is this what you want? And he’d neigh and nod his head.
The tears gushed again. ‘Oh Jack, I’m so sorry.’
Maureen indicated right and turned into the police stables, instantly she became irritated, the courtyard gates were open, what the bloody hell was Herbie doing leaving the gates open? The rule was the gates were to be kept shut all the time. She swung the steering wheel around, touched the gas and expertly drove the four through the gates, swinging to her right. Even though she was only doing five miles per hour, she had to slam her brakes on, stopping the four before it crunched into a new red Rover that was blocking her way into the four’s parking space. She yanked up the handbrake with such force that the metal squealed. That was it, someone was going to get such a kick up the arse they’d have to sit on a blow-up plastic ring for a week. She jumped down and walked past the Rover, giving it a thump with the side of her fist on the way. Just as she entered Lunt appeared on the threshold.
Everything about the man irritated her, his ingratiating smile, inspecting his hands, then removing the minutest imaginary speck from his uniform. His glances of disdain at his surroundings, but most of all the manner in which he eyed Maureen up and down, the practiced languid scrutiny of every part of her uniform, from her boots to the way she’d tied her hair. She knew one of them was history.
‘At long last, Inspector Doyle. I’ve been waiting for over an hour.’
She ignored that. ‘Is this your car sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you move it to the car park please, it’s just around the back.’
Lunt was irritated, ‘I’ll move it later, I want to speak to you first.’
‘It’s in the standing orders sir that the only vehicles allowed into the courtyard are the horse transports, the farrier’s van, the vet’s car and the unloading of feedstuffs.’ Maureen could see the subtle changes in his features, indicating a rising anger, but that only served to spur her. ‘Also, I imagine it was on your orders that Herbie left the gate open?’
‘I did tell the officer to leave them open, but that.’
‘In the interests of safety,’ Maureen interrupted, ‘the gates are to be kept shut at all times, after all sir,’ she tipped her head to one side and gave him a patronising smile, ‘we can’t have half a ton of Irish Draught horse wandering the streets, no telling what he might get up to.’
Lunt opened his mouth to speak; he was going to give this overweight harridan a bollocking right now.
What Lunt failed to appreciate was that after so long in the force Maureen was an expert at reading facial expressions. Again she spoke as he was thinking. ‘The standing orders have been in force for over one hundred years, they are updated and checked every year, the last four by Chief Superintendent Latimer. If they are not to your liking, I suggest you go and see him. Now, I’d be grateful if you would move your car sir, so I can park the four and see to the welfare of the horses.’
Lunt knew he had to have the last word, if only to delude himself that he was in charge, ‘Wait in my office.’ Lunt began walking down the steps.
Maureen chuckled, his office, I haven’t allocated him an office yet. ‘Excuse me sir.’
‘What?’ Lunt answered impatiently.
‘Another of the horses has been injured, I’ve notified the vet and he’s on his way. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to wait in your office until after the vet has been. The welfare of the horses always takes priority.’ Maureen watched carefully as Lunt’s expression turned into one of undisguised anger. He opened his mouth to speak, again she was ready for him, but he clamped his lips shut, quickly turned and strode to his car, brushing imaginary bits off his uniform.