Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2

COLD REDEMPTION By Les Morris

Eddie McBride sat in his office, under a blanket of cigarette smoke that hung just above the light thrown down by a battered desk lamp. An old Browning Hi-Power, he bought from a man in the pub, had been field stripped, cleaned and re-assembled. One of the three magazines, loaded with 9mm Parabellum rounds, sat in the grip with one round in the chamber. He carefully dropped the hammer; he didn’t want it to go off before he needed it to.

He removed the top from a half empty bottle of whiskey and poured a large measure. Turning the glass in his hand, he looked at the amber liquid and remembered a time when he could get through a day without it. He barely tasted it as it burned its way down his throat. The smoke from another cigarette pulled at his lungs as his hand ran down through the stubble on his chin. His eyes were bloodshot, his clothes wrinkled and creased after another night sleeping on the couch in the office. Put quite simply, he was a mess.

It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when he prided himself on his appearance, but that was ten years ago, while he was still on the force. That was before his fall from grace, when he was involved in real cases, murder, kidnapping. Ricky Clayton put an end to all that.

Ricky Clayton was a small time gangster trying to build a crime empire. Back then, he had a small crew of minor criminals dealing drugs and stealing cars. McBride was a young detective, honest and incorruptible; at least that’s what he thought. His older brother, on the other hand, was an alcoholic, drug addicted gambler who owed Clayton thousands he didn’t have. When the debt was called in, McBride was given a simple choice. Watch his brother die, or supply information. It only took one tip off, there was no going back; McBride belonged to Clayton. It didn’t take long for word to get around; a bent copper, he was mistrusted and hated by his colleagues. His exit from the force was far from honourable. A promising career destroyed.

Ten years later, Ricky Clayton was rich and sat at the top of a large criminal organisation, while McBride scrabbled about for scraps at the bottom of the pile. The sign on his door said ‘Eddie McBride: Private Investigations.’ But the biggest cases he got these days involved following unfaithful husbands or tracking down lost dogs in the shit end of town.

Earlier that morning, someone banging on his front door wakened him from his drunken sleep. His head throbbed, his lungs complained as he took a deep breath that wasn’t laced with nicotine. Coughing loudly, he was in no state to see anyone but, lighting up his first cigarette of the day, he answered the door just to make the banging stop.

“WHAT?” He immediately regretted shouting; it just made his head worse.

“Eddie? Eddie McBride?”

“Yeah,” the man at the door looked about forty with a slim build and thinning brown hair. He wore an expensive, tailored suit and looked far too respectable to be in this part of town. “Who are you?”

“My name’s Edgar, Alan Edgar. Can I come in?”

“If you’re here for money I haven’t got any.”

“I want to hire you Mr McBride.”

McBride hadn’t had a case for months and didn’t want to lose a paying client, “Come in Mr…Edgar, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right…Alan Edgar…Thank you.”

McBride led Edgar up the flight of concrete steps into his office. He opened the blinds and the window. The room smelled of stale smoke and sweat, hardly a good first impression. “Have a seat. Would you like a drink?” What was he thinking? It was 8 o’clock in the morning.

“No thank you Mr McBride. Look, Eddie, can I call you Eddie? Relax; I’m fully aware of…” Edgar looked around at the room, “your circumstances.”

McBride emptied the overflowing ashtray and placed it on his desk. He dug two aspirin from the drawer and washed them down with the dregs of yesterday’s coffee from a cardboard cup. “What can I do for you, Mr Edgar?”

“I’ve been working for Ricky Clayton.”

McBride dropped the cup and, in three strides, crossed the room and slammed Edgar into the wall. “Tell Clayton I’m not interested in anything he’s got to offer.”

Edgar’s fear was visible in his eyes, “WAIT…I have to work for him. He took my daughter.”

McBride released him, “And what do you do that he needs?”

“I advise people on the best ways and places to invest, away from prying eyes.”

“You mean you launder money for criminals.”

“Call it what you like. When Clayton sent for me I ignored him. I knew his reputation, that he’d be nothing but trouble.”

“I take it Clayton wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Edgar sat on the couch with his head in his hands, “He took my little girl, said he would kill her.”

McBride lit another cigarette, “What does he want you to do?”

“The usual stuff, offshore bank account, dummy company. I’ve set it all up; I’m supposed to take him the details tonight.”

“Just do what he wants; I’m sure you’ll be well paid. ”

“You know what he’s like. As soon as I do, he’ll kill me and Sharon.”

McBride knew Edgar was right. Getting rid of witnesses was business as usual for Clayton. Sharon Edgar was already dead, unless someone did something to stop it.

Edgar looked up with tears in his eyes, “I don’t expect you to stick your neck out for me, I deserve everything I get, but Sharon’s sixteen, she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Clayton destroyed McBride’s life; he spent the last 10 years wallowing in self pity and doing his best to drink himself into an early grave. It was time to turn it around. Pay Clayton back and help someone else in the process. Then, maybe, he could sort his life out. “Ok Alan, do what he wants and go to the meeting.”

“Can you help us?”

McBride stubbed out his cigarette, “I’ll see what I can do.”

McBride got up from his desk. He put on an old army combat jacket and slipped the Browning into his pocket. He picked up the bottle of whiskey and paused, staring at it. As much as he wanted the comforting warmth of another hit of alcohol, he needed to be sober, if he was going to help the girl. He placed the bottle back on the desk, grabbed a black ski mask from the drawer and headed down the steps to his front door.

He knew Clayton had two properties that he was likely to use to hold the girl. One was an isolated farm outside of town, that’s where Edgar’s meeting was taking place. People who were taken there usually disappeared. Clayton kept pigs there for a reason. McBride was now at the other property, an old industrial unit. If the girl was here, he would rescue her and take her to Edgar. If she wasn’t, he could take out some of Clayton’s crew, before he went to the farm. That was his plan. But who was he kidding? He wasn’t prepared for this. He’d be lucky to stay alive long enough to make it to the farm.

He worked his way around the perimeter, looking for a way in. The chain link fence around the property wasn’t well maintained and in several areas was rusty and broken. It didn’t take him long to find a gap big enough for him to squeeze through. He knelt just inside the fence and surveyed the area. There was no cover to hide him while he made his way to the building but it was a dark night and no one was patrolling. They were arrogant enough to think no one would dare come after them. They were right, until now.

Keeping low, he quickly crossed the expanse of tarmac to the side of the building. The rain was hammering down on the corrugated steel roof, the noise inside must have been deafening, another stroke of luck in his favour. Moving along the wall, he approached the front entrance and crouched down in front of one of the two black Range Rovers parked outside. He cocked the Browning and took off the safety just as the door opened and two of Clayton’s gang stepped out into the rain. They ran over to one of the Range Rover’s and jumped in. As the engine kicked in to life, McBride stood up and put several rounds into each of them. If they weren’t dead, they certainly weren’t a threat any more.

He made his way over to the door they had appeared from and looked in. Two more men sat at a table, playing cards. It didn’t look like anyone else was inside and there was no sign of the girl. He stepped through the door and opened fire. The two card players couldn’t react quickly enough. The first went down with a bullet smashing into his forehead. The second took three shots to his chest, as he made an attempt to grab his own weapon. McBride backed away from the two dead men, into the shadows, and waited for their back up to arrive. None came.

His ears ringing from the sound of gunfire bouncing around the inside of the metal building, McBride looked for the girl. There was no one else here. She must be being held at the farm, ready for the pigs to dispose of her body. He couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed the keys to the second Range Rover, put a fresh mag into the Browning and went outside. The rain was still bouncing off the tarmac as he opened the compound gate and drove off.

McBride arrived at the farm an hour before Edgar’s meeting, parked the Range Rover in a copse of trees and walked the last mile across the sodden fields. He took up a position, under a bush, overlooking the farmyard. An old wooden barn sat on the right hand side with the house on the left. There was no movement in the barn but, judging by the noises coming from it, was where Clayton kept his pigs. The house had two entrances; the main entrance was furthest from him and was where all of the light and movement seemed to be. The rear entrance faced the barn and was completely dark, that’s where he would start. He had seen Clayton arrive but had no way of knowing how many men were already in there. His original plan was to wait for Edgar to arrive and enter the house while Clayton was distracted, but he couldn’t wait. The temperature was dropping; if he stayed in this position any longer his legs would start to go numb. He had to make a move and hope that Edgar arrived in time.

He put on his ski mask and crawled to the edge of the track that ran around the farmhouse. Checking for any movement, he slithered across the six feet of mud to the corner of the building. Crouching in the darkness at the back of the house, he raised himself up until his eye level was just above the bottom edge of the window. The room he was looking into was a large kitchen. The only light was coming from the passageway leading to it from the front. He moved to the window on the other side of the solid wooden door and again looked in. A sliver of light was visible underneath a door in the corner of the room. That could be a possible location of the girl. The noise and headlights of an approaching car made him duck down. He crawled to the edge of the house and, lying prone in the mud, peered around the corner.

The front door to the house opened as Edgar’s car pulled up outside. Clayton was first out followed by two of his men. Edgar got out of his car and McBride heard voices as the men talked outside. This was his chance. He turned the handle of the kitchen door. Someone up there must really like him, the door opened and he slipped inside.

McBride moved over to the door in the corner and looked through the keyhole. There was definitely light behind it but no noise. Looking around the kitchen, he found a knife with a wooden handle and a six inch blade. The quieter he could be the better. Pulling the door open, he made his way down the wooden steps that led to the basement.

With his back to the wall, he negotiated the last few steps. The basement was a big, empty room with a single, bare light bulb in the centre of the ceiling. Directly below the light, facing towards him, was the girl. She looked up and pulled at the ropes which tied her to the chair. Her eyes widened with fear at the sight of an armed man, in a ski mask, caked with mud. McBride dropped the knife and pulled off the mask. “It’s ok Sharon; I’m here with your dad. I’ve come to get you out.” Kneeling in front of the chair, he untied the girl’s hands and feet, “We need to get your dad and get the hell out of here.”

“Who are you?” The girl’s throat was dry and her voice barely audible.

“It doesn’t matter, your dad can explain later. Now, let’s go.”

As McBride turned to lead the way out of the basement, the force of the blow, to the side of his head, knocked him to the floor. Clayton’s goon was on top of him before he had time to recover. McBride deflected some of the punches that were crashing into his face but too many were getting through. His ears were ringing, he could taste blood and his vision was blurred. He tried to jam his thumbs into the goon’s eye sockets, but he could feel himself blacking out, he was finished.

The voice in McBride’s head asked him if he was ok. The punches had stopped but there was still a man on his chest. The weight felt different, limp, a dead weight. He opened his bloodied eyes and blinked the fog away. The buzzing in his head subsided and, again, he heard the voice.

“Are you…ok?”

It was the voice of a young girl. He lifted his head, Sharon Edgar knelt beside him. His attacker was now lying lifeless on top of him with the carving knife, from the kitchen, buried in the back of his neck. McBride rolled the man off him and got to his feet. His head spun and he had to steady himself against the wall, “I’m fine, thanks to you.”

Sharon Edgar was shaking. She wiped her blood stained hands on her jeans, “I didn’t know what to do. The knife was in my hand…I had to stop him.”

“You saved my life.” McBride removed the Browning from his jacket pocket, “Now we have to go.”

He grabbed the girls hand and led her back up the steps to the kitchen.

They could hear raised voices coming from the room at the front of the house. “Go an’ see where the idiot is.” Clayton barked an order as one of his men hurried along the corridor towards the kitchen. McBride turned the corner and fired four times. The sound of footsteps was replaced by the thud of a crumpling body and the metallic clink of spent cartridges hitting the stone flagged floor.

McBride walked up the corridor, 9mm in both hands, “Clayton.” He turned into the other room, “Give it up. You’ve nowhere to go.”

“Eddie McBride? You look like shit.” Clayton stood in the middle of the room. He held Edgar around the neck, in front of him, with one arm while his other hand pressed the muzzle of his Glock 17 into Edgar’s right temple. “Put the gun down and back off or he dies.”

“Go ahead, Ricky. He’s nothin’ to me.”

“You know what I’ll do to you when I get out of here.”

“Yeah…you mean if you get out of here.”

“I could make you a rich man, Eddie. Just walk away.”

“No thanks, Ricky. I think you’ve caused me enough shit. It’s time the world got along without you.”

“It’s a bit late for you to develop principles, isn’t it? What happened to the alcoholic, chain smoking, ex bent copper we all know and love?”

“I was a good copper ‘til you fucked it all up. Payback’s been a long time comin’.”

Clayton edged towards the front door, “I’m leavin’ now Eddie, don’t come after me or the girl won’t see her dad, alive, again.”

“Eddie, just get Sharon out of here. That’s all that matters.”

Clayton pressed the Glock, harder, into Edgar’s head, “Shut it, and open the door.”

Edgar reached behind him and turned the handle. Clayton kicked the door fully open and backed out towards his car.

“DAD…NO,” Sharon Edgar ran at the two men. Clayton pulled his weapon away from Edgar’s temple and pointed it at the girl. Alan Edgar braced his foot against the door frame and pushed as hard as he could. As the Glock fired, both men fell backwards onto the gravel driveway. The 9mm round buried itself into the wall above the door. Edgar rolled away, Clayton tried to sit up and aim at him but McBride was already squeezing the trigger of his Hi-Power. The remaining rounds in the Browning’s magazine slammed into the gangster’s chest. Gasping for air as he coughed up blood from his shredded lungs, Clayton tried to say something. McBride bent down and picked up the Glock. He had planned what he would say when he finally confronted the man who ruined his life, but in the end it didn’t matter. He aimed at Clayton’s head and pulled the trigger.

Sharon Edgar ran to her father and wrapped her arms around him. McBride dragged Clayton’s body back into the house and closed the door, “We need to get out of here before the police arrive. You two get as far away as possible and try to forget this”

Alan Edgar hugged his daughter and kissed her on the forehead, “You saved our lives. If there’s anything I can do…just name it.”

McBride smiled at the girl, “Let’s just call it quits.”

BIO:

Les Morris is an author with a lifelong love of books and storytelling that he developed as a child.

After a career in the Royal Navy, which spanned most of the 80s and 90s, he now lives in Cumbria, with his wife and children, and writes at every opportunity.

Recently he started to concentrate on writing thrillers and his short story, 'Blood on Their Hands', was published in Matt Hilton's anthology 'ACTION: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 1'.

Les also has work published online and was recently featured on the Thrillers, Killers and Chillers website with his story, 'Meltdown'.

He now has two tales ‘An Eye For An Eye’ and ‘Blood On Their Hands’ available as eBooks, and is working on his first novel.