Author of Pain- Minor Mayhem Read online

  One minute he had smacked the guy in the face, the next he was all smiles and genuine concern. Poor Mitch, just like all the others who were on his end of the routine, didn't know if he was coming or going. 'If they don't know if you're going to kiss or kill them,' Fraker had once told him. 'Then they won't know how to react. So once you're on top of the situation, you stay on top, with minimal bloodshed and tears all round.'

  Still stunned, Mitch pressed the handkerchief to his bleeding nose, which caused him to take a sharp intake of breath. "B, Bill, Ch-Ch, Charlie," he stammered. "I was going to call you lads, I swear."

  Fraker held up his hands in a defensive gesture. "Hey, Mitch, come on, you don't have to explain yourself to us. We know you've been busy. Don't we Charlie?"

  Charlie nodded on cue. "Hell aye."

  The bar owner swung his head glancing between Fraker and Charlie, sending beads of sweat flying off his forehead. "Really, it's been bedlam in here the past couple of weeks," he said.

  Fraker nodded, listening intently to the man. "I can imagine, Mitch. Like I said we trust you, you're a general good egg and you've always been straight with me. Which goes a long way in my book, believe me." Fraker paused as if fighting to find the right words. "It's just, it's just the boss. You see he gets these headaches, and they do tend to make the old git bad tempered at times. Unreasonable some might say, although not to his face. So we're just here to put his mind at rest. I mean twenty thousand pounds, that's a lot of money, Mitch."

  There was no edge to Fraker's voice at all, he just seemed to want to help him, not break any bones. Charlie could see Mitch pick up on this as a lifeline and grabbed onto it with both hands. "Yeah, yeah, of course," he babbled. "I understand, really I do, and I appreciate how patient you've all been. Believe me, now that the place has taken off, he'll get it all back, plus the interest. You see that's what the loan was for, I needed a refit to pull in the punters." Fraker looked around the place admiringly. "See?" Mitch added hopefully, hanging on Fraker's every move.

  "And that's money well spent too, the place looks great." Fraker said. Although Mitch was the wrong side of fifty and had been in the pub game all his adult life, he had been quick to see the potential in the whole part café, part bar thing. Unfortunately for him, the banks hadn't shared his vision so he had had to turn to Mister Lyne's 'Loans' department for financial support.

  "No problem pulling people in?" Charlie adlibbed.

  Mitch jumped slightly as though he had forgotten Charlie was there. He shook his head like an idiot. "No, not at all, the place is heaving after the pubs close," he said.

  "Nice one," Charlie said and moved along the bar so he was directly behind Mitch, which meant he had to crane his neck around so see him. Mitch didn't like that at all.

  "Yep," Mitch's head snapped back to face Fraker as he spoke. "It's the dog's biscuits, eh Charlie?"

  "Oh, yeah," Charlie said. "Even I'd drink here."

  Raising his eyebrows Fraker and looked at Mitch, impressed. "Now that is praise indeed, you know how fussy he can be." He gestured to Charlie. "Take that suit. Guess how much it cost?"

  "Ooh dunno," Mitch shrugged. "Looks expensive." He absently dabbed his nose as he spoke which make him wince but at least it had finally stopped bleeding.

  "One thousand English pounds!" Fraker declared a little too loudly making Mitch flinch. "A thousand quid for a fucking suit, pardon my French. Flash git." Fraker ran his fingers down his own suit's lapels. "This cost me one hundred tops. Never pay more than a ton for a suit, Mitchell and you won't go far wrong my friend." Mitch nodded, clearly wanting them gone so he could throw up.

  At this Charlie gave a sigh of genuine disgust and hissed through his teeth. "Philistine." Fraker ignored this as he was absently looking around the bar again admiring the new fixtures and fittings. Then after a long, very uncomfortable silence, which was timed to perfection, Charlie gave a little cough, which prompted Fraker back to the business at hand.

  "What, huh?" Fraker said seemingly a little disorientated. "Oh, yeah sorry, Mitch. I was miles away there. Right then, so, I can give Mister Lyne my personally guarantee you'll pay the money back?"

  "Oh, Christ yeah, every penny, plus the interest." Mitch nodded vigorously which seemed to make his head spin judging by the way his eyes rolled.

  "Right then, on my head be it and all that as they say." Seemingly satisfied Fraker then made a move to stand, which earned an almost audible sigh of relief from Mitch. But then he stopped, mid-movement, as if he'd just remembered something and then sat right back down again. "Oh, yeah, while we're here... Charlie?" Fraker held out his hand to Charlie who reached behind him and pulled out the pistol from the back of his trousers. He took a step towards Fraker and handed him the weapon, Fraker then expertly popped out the ammunition clip and pushed out a bullet with his thumb.

  As he was doing this, Charlie couldn't help but glance at Mitch, who seeing the gun had gone quite remarkably pale and watched Fraker slack jawed as he slammed the clip back into the pistol and handed it back to Charlie.

  "Whoa, whoa, hang on, Bill..." Mitch babbled in disbelief. But Fraker didn't look up straight away, he just turned the bullet over in his hand for a few seconds letting Mitch stew a little longer, then finally held it between his thumb and forefinger and raised it up for him to see.

  Showtime: They called it the Kneecap Routine.

  Fraker squinted at the bullet and moved it slightly so the light glinted off its metal casing. "Look at this Mitch," Fraker eventually said. "This is a nine millimetre Parabellum jacketed hollow point round. It's the type the I.R.A used to use in the good old days if they were gonna kneecap someone..."

  As Fraker spoke, Charlie moved back directly behind Mitch and said, "You see Mitch..." Mitch jumped a mile and once again had to crane his neck around to see him as he spoke. "It's not big enough to cause any permanent damage. But it is big enough for you to know about it if you did get shot with one..."

  Fraker's turn, "Now, the I.R.A always used to shoot you through the front of the knee, usually as a warning. It would hurt like bloody hell but you could walk again in what, six to eight weeks?"

  "It's not meant to cripple you," Charlie continued, "It's just sort of one step up from a slap on the wrist so to speak, albeit a heck of a lot more painful, eh Bill?"

  "Absolutely. Now me and Charlie here were talking about this, and we figured, if we were gonna kneecap someone..." Mitch was now sweating profusely, he screwed his eyes tight shut, perhaps hoping when he opened them this would all be just a bad dream.

  "We'd shoot them through the back of the knee..." Charlie said gleefully.

  Feeling nauseas Mitch opened his eyes again, nope they were still both there. He looked at Fraker who leaned forward a little. "Yeah, so the bullet would exit through the front of the knee," he gently tapped Mitch's kneecap. "About here."

  Charlie began pacing around enthused. Mitch was looking about fit to pass out now, he opened his mouth but nothing came out. "Yeah, yeah. And we'd use one of those soft nosed bullets or a dum-dum."

  The light caught the bullet again as Fraker rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. "So," Fraker continued. "When it hits the patella it would shatter into dozens of minute metal splinters, which would each, in turn, tear through the flesh, bone and cartilage of the kneecap before exiting in a dozen different places..."

  Charlie shoved his hands in his pocket and sat casually on the edge of a table just behind Fraker's right shoulder. "We figured it would actually take off your entire knee. Not to mention what it would do to your trousers." He smiled and nodded to himself as if picturing this in his mind's eye.

  "Uhuh," Fraker nodded also then added ruefully, "And with the NHS being what it is these days..." (Pause for effect.) "You'd never walk again."

  Both Charlie and Fraker stared off in to space, lost in the moment. The room would have been pin drop quiet were it not for Mitch's ragged breathing. Then after a suitably long pause Fraker snapped out of it and look
ed at the poor bar owner sit opposite him, even Fraker was surprised at his deathly pallor.

  "Ooph, sorry mate," he said. "I was miles away there. Don't even know why I brought it up. It's just an idea me and Charlie have been playing around with."

  "Yeah, we don't get out much," Charlie added.

  Fraker leaned forward again and placed the bullet carefully into Mitch's sweaty palm. "Here, this is for you. Call it a souvenir."

  "Right then," Charlie said buttoning up his expensive coat right to the top. "That's us. Goodnight, Mitch." And with that he walked over to the door and with a casual, "Cheers" over his shoulder he disappeared outside.

  Satisfied at a job well done and with the minimum of violence, Fraker also got to his feet. Nobody got shot, and he had no doubts that poor Mitch would pay on time from now on. It was just like he told Charlie, It was all about controlling the situation, stamping your authority on it before anything bad can develop and this had been a text book example tonight.

  He buttoned up his jacket and looked down at Mitch, who was still staring at the bullet in his trembling hand, and felt a tinge of remorse which came out of nowhere. Fraker had been using the kneecap routine for years now, he had recited it so many times, with Charlie and others that its threat of underlying violence was lost on him now. It was just that, a routine, everyone he knew it in this line of work and had their own version of it, people added their own little flourishes here and there, like any good joke. Learn it, then make it your own.

  He patted Mitch on the shoulder then said a little softer than he had meant, "See you later, mate," and walked away. Although he was sure Mitch hadn't heard him, let alone picked up on the tone of his voice, Fraker silently cursed himself for getting soft and stepped out into the cold night air. It had started to snow since they had been inside and the ground was covered with a light dusting. Charlie was waiting by the car, stamping his feet to keep warm. 'That's it,' Fraker thought digging into his pocket for the keys. 'Get fit the first chance I get and stop thinking so much. It's all just part of the job.'

  As he got to the car, Charlie beamed at him. "I thought that went well," he said.

  "Yeah, your delivery's getting better."

  "Yeah? Nice one."

  They got into the car and as Fraker pulled away he remembered the hip flask in the glove compartment and he brightened up somewhat. He would demolish it once he'd dropped Charlie off. For some reason the kid didn't drink which made him a freak in Fraker's eyes. Life without alcohol? Fraker thought, Jesus, He couldn't think of a worse kind of hell.

  SEVEN

  "Sharks!? Tommy, what the fuck have sharks got to do with anything?" Larry got up from off his bed and double checked the caller ID on his phone just to make sure he was taking to the right person and not some prankster. Yep it was Tommy Whitaker alright. Right person, if not in his right mind. Tommy had been babbling at him for the best part of five minutes, not letting him get a word in edge ways. Something about sharks and eternal damnation.

  "Tommy, calm down, you're not making a drop of sense." The truth was there was something in Whitaker's voice that unnerved Larry. Total conviction. "Tom..." He tried to interrupt, but Whitaker was in full flow now.

  "Christ!!" Whitaker shrieked down the other end. "How many times? Don't use my fucking name. They'll know, can't you understand? They'll feel the ripples and find me. And if they find me, they'll sure as shit find you. Mary gave me the tooth, but I just don't know if it'll work, can't take that chance. Don't use my name and I won't use yours."

  Tooth? Mary? Larry was close to total despair now. "Calm down, T..." He caught himself from saying Whitaker's name just in time, no use in agitating him any more than he already was, not that he thought that was remotely possible, given his state of near hysteria. "Take a fucking breath will you?"

  "No, no time, they're onto us, I know. I know everything now, we're fucked, damned. I know now... I know who's after us, I know what they are." Whitaker said, the word what was a whisper.

  Larry cupped his hand over the mouth piece. "Peroni!" He shouted. "Get in here, for Christ sake." This was all going to shit. He'd been trying to get hold of Whitaker for days, to chew him out about setting him up with this shower of shit he was holed up with. And now that Whitaker had actually contacted him, he had turned into a maniac almost from the moment Larry answered.

  "You there, you still there?" Whitaker sounded scared as hell.

  "I'm here, Tommy," he winced having used his name again and braced himself for more lunacy but instead was met by silence. "You still there?" He said sharply.

  Finally Peroni poked her head around the door. "Whatssup?" she said. And Larry mouthed Tommy Whitaker to her. "Get him to come in," she said and came into the room. "Tell him we can protect him."

  "They want you to come in." Larry said into the phone.

  "Who?" Whitaker said, and Larry could tell he was pacing as he spoke.

  He sighed. "The police, MI5! The ones you did the deal with, remember? I'm with one of them now. She says they can protect you." Secretly Larry wanted Whitaker to turn himself in, just so he could wring his neck.

  There was more silence at the other end, then out of the blue Whitaker screamed down the phone; "Jesus! What if they're listening in right now? Mary said they can use phone signals to track you down. Shit. I've gotta go I've gotta go!"

  It was so loud even Peroni winced. "Mary, who the fuck is Mary?" Larry asked, his voice cracking with emotion. "And why would the police want to trace this call? They're standing right fucking here." Larry cupped his hand over the mouth piece again and looked up at the heavens. "Christ on a crutch." He cursed.

  "No you idiot!" Whitaker shouted. "Not the police, Christ if only it was the police we have to worry about." He began to sob pitifully. It turned Larry's stomach.

  "If not the police, then who?" Larry tried to keep his voice steady.

  Peroni made a face and shrugged. "Larry," she whispered grabbing his arm, "Tell him to come in."

  He pulled his arm away. "Tommy!" This made Whitaker shriek again. "Oh shut up," Larry snapped. "Pull yourself together and come on in, for Christ sake. I'm the one everyone wants dead Whit-a-ker," he lingered on his name deliberately. "No one gives a shit about you."

  "I'm going McCulloch, and don't fucking call me again, you hear? You're fucked and you're not taking me with you. You hear!?" His voice was so loud it distorted.

  "What?" Larry said incredulously. "You called me, you fucking lunatic!" The phone went dead. "Jesus!" Larry tossed the phone onto his bed and sat down next to it.

  Peroni picked up the phone. "Whitaker?"

  "He's gone," Larry said shaking his head in disbelief. "Fucking nutter, that's all I need."

  Peroni hit the redial last call button and listened. "What did he say, Larry? Exactly, it may be important." She frowned and turned off the phone. "He's not answering."

  "Huh, no shit," spat Larry.

  "Larry!" Her voice was sharp. He finally looked up at her. "What did he say?" She asked again this time a little more gently.

  "Christ, I dunno," Larry shrugged. "Couldn't make out half of it. He kept saying he knew everything now. And some bollocks about not using his name." Larry remembered that tone of absolute conviction in Whitaker's voice, and he physically shook his head to dislodge the memory. "Kept saying they could trace him just by someone saying his name."

  Peroni took out her own phone. "No names? Just, they?" She said.

  "Yeah, just they." Larry got to his feet and heard his aching knees crack. This was all wrong he thought and rubbed the back of his neck. "Shit," he said, something occurred to him. "Does Whitaker know about this place?"

  "What?" Peroni clearly took an affront at this. "Give us a little credit, Larry." She said. "No one else knows about this place." She paused a second. "Oh, apart from the full page ad we took out in the Evening Post, that is. You may have seen it, it had directions and everything."

  Oh, great, thought Larry. I'm back in a fucking sitcom ag
ain. And not one of those good American ones. We're talking BBC 3 here. He laughed out loud at his own joke, Whitakers raving forgotten for a second. Peroni gave him a funny look. "Yep, BBC 3." He said obliquely.

  She narrowed her eyes and looked ready to retort but evidently thought better off it. (Where was Lewis when you wanted him?) "Still," she finally said. "Shame about Whitaker, we could have helped him. I'm going to report this." She moved to leave but turned back as she reached the door. "Oh and I'm sure you'll be glad to learn, the boss should be here soon. Best you tell him everything Whitaker said to you, might be important."

  At last, something was going right. The elusive boss of this shambles was on his way and that meant things could finally start to move forwards. Whitaker had clearly lost his mind, that much was plain, but Larry didn't need him any longer. Peroni was about to leave when Larry called her back. "Hey, well it's about fucking time. And to hell with Tommy Whitaker," he said. "If he thinks he's actually going to get paid for setting up this farce, he truly is out of his fucking mind."

  "I think getting paid is the least of his problems now, Larry." Peroni said and Larry caught the hint of a melancholy smile on her face. Then she seemed to remember something. "Did Whitaker make any mention of an American?"

  "Huh? No. Why?"

  She shook her head. "Nothing." With this she disappeared out the door, leaving Larry with at least half a dozen questions.

  So the Yanks were in on this too by the sounds of it. Well they could take a number and get in line as far as Larry was concerned. He glanced at his phone on the bed and did a quick tally of people in his head that he could call to get him the hell out of here if he needed to. It came to a grand total of none. Whitaker had been his last hope and that made him feel like crying, but he sucked it up. "Shit's creek." He said and wiped his eyes, which were watering all the same.