Revenger

60

The Ward sister had objected strongly to letting Carver anywhere near her patient. Mr Curtis, she pointed out, had lost a great deal of blood and then suffered respiratory failure during his operation. But Carver had waved his official papers, said the magic words ‘national security’, then pointed out that tens of people had already died, and more might still be in danger if the perpetrators weren’t caught. Finally, without voicing any overt threat, he made it clear that he was armed, and she had very grudgingly relented. Now he was sitting beside the bed of an extremely sick man — a man whose injuries he had inflicted — wondering whether he could afford to trust his own instincts.

Carver had been thinking about the way Curtis had acted — the warnings to stay away from Netherton Street or get the hell out; the fact that he had been unarmed when he had been charging towards the supermarket; the general sense of competence he exuded — and come to a conclusion. So the first thing Carver said was, ‘Who are you working for?’

Curtis looked at him blearily and mumbled, ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yes, you do. You weren’t there by accident tonight. You were undercover. I could tell. That’s why I didn’t kill you. Sorry for shooting you, by the way.’

Curtis was in no state to feel like being grateful.

‘But look on the bright side, I also saved your life. If you’d made it to the supermarket, you’d be dead.’

Still Curtis saw no reason to say thank you.

‘OK, I don’t blame you for feeling that way. So, I’m guessing you’re either an undercover cop or security service. Either way, you won’t want to tell me anything. Not some bastard who comes from another ministry and blew the shit out of your shoulder. So I’ll keep it short. I’ve already got to Bakunin…’

Carver saw Curtis’s eyes widen in recognition, and for the first time thought he might be getting somewhere. ‘He told me he got his orders from someone, he didn’t know who, he only had a voice-mail to call if he needed to get in touch. But maybe you know more than he did. So here’s my question: who was calling Bakunin?’

Curtis didn’t look at all bemused or surprised by what Carver had said. But he said nothing.

‘You know what I’m talking about,’ Carver said. ‘That’s obvious. You don’t want to tell me. That’s understandable. But here’s my problem: I need to know who that man was. So either you tell me… or I make you tell me. And I don’t want to do that. So please, tell me.’

‘Can’t do that. Only talk to my cover officer…’

‘He’s not here and I’ve not got time to call him. Tell me: who was Bakunin talking to?’

Carver held up the Glock. ‘See this? It’s got a very hard barrel. If I push that barrel right into your wound it’s going to hurt you more than you can even imagine. And the fact that you’re hooked up to painkillers won’t help. This’ll cut right through the drugs.’

Curtis stared back at him, defiantly silent.

‘I’ve already tortured one person this evening, I really don’t… Oh fuck it…’ Carver clamped his right hand over Curtis’s mouth. With the left he drove the barrel of the Glock hard into the centre of the bandaged area around the shotgun wound. Carver knew where he had hit Curtis and he was going right for the heart of the impact.

Curtis’s body writhed. The veins on his forehead popped. His eyes were so wide open Carver half-expected the eyeballs to pop out. He gave a muffled cry of agony.

Carver pulled back the gun, but kept the hand where it was. ‘Tell me, calmly, no shouting or screaming, or I do it again… For fuck’s sake, we’re on the same side! I’m trying to catch the man who ordered the riot. I just need one fucking name!’

‘Cropper,’ Curtis said. ‘We never confirmed it for sure. But we think he’s called Danny Cropper. Ex-Para…’

Now there’s a surprise, Carver thought.

‘Operates out of a strip joint he owns in Brewer Street, name of Soho Gold.’

‘Thank you,’ said Carver. ‘See, that wasn’t so difficult. And I’m sorry I hurt you. Tell you what, I’ll make the pain go away.’

He reached across to the bag from which an opiate analgesic was dripping into Curtis’s arm and dramatically upped the dose. Curtis looked at him blearily then closed his eyes.

‘Thanks,’ said Carver, when he saw the ward sister on the way out. ‘We only talked for a couple of minutes, but he was very helpful. He’s fast asleep now, though. Probably the best thing for him, eh?’

Walking through the lobby towards the main exit Carver was passed by the two plain-clothes police, the tall woman and the black guy who had come in at the same time as him. The woman bumped into him on the way by.

She said, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Carver said, ‘Quite all right.’

And then they were gone.