It Wasn't The Bullet (27) “We have been rather selfish, I fear, Charles. We should call Samantha and see how she is faring.” Charlie felt foolish and mean. Both men looked around the workshop for a telephone. Simon got up from the table and strode with a purpose to the cluttered desk that seemed to be propped up by the wall nearest the wooden gates. He dialled a number, hung up and then dialled again. “I told Samantha to answer the phone if it rang three times and then rang again”, he explained to Charlie’s unintentional inquisitive gaze. The connection must have been made as Charlie heard Simon speak, “My dear Samantha, I am relieved to hear your sweet voice.” He paused to let Samantha speak, “It is perfectly understandable to feel the way you do.” “Yes, we are both fine. The mission was accomplished satisfactorily.” “The gentleman with you is named Mr Black. He will stay with you until we return. He is at your service.” “We have to run one more errand and…..” “No, it should not take too long….” “Please don’t worry, we will be with you in no time. Now, we have to go.” “Yes, of course I will. I bid you adieu.” “Yes, goodbye.” He replaced the receiver gently back into it’s resting place and sat back down opposite Charlie. “She sounds a bit shaken, but otherwise in fine fettle. My associate will take good care of her until we return. She insists you take great care of yourself and wishes us luck.” Simon studied the dirty tea mug he had picked up off the table absent mindedly. “Do you have a game plan?”, he asked rather suddenly “I’m going through the front door. Fuck ‘em.” Said Charlie “Will he be home? How will you know?” “Justin never leaves his house before three. He’s a night person. Mickey will be anywhere that Justin is. I don’t think I’ve really seen them apart for longer than a couple of days. No, they’ll be there.” “I will be your wing man, to coin a phrase. Do not doubt me, I will have your six. Charles, I think Terrence would be proud of you at this moment. I’m sure he would have been pretty angry when you allowed yourself to get shot!” “I would have a bruise on my arm from a friendly jab, that’s for sure.” It suddenly occurred to Charlie he had never spoken about Terry to anyone that knew him before he entered the public realm. “I would like to ask you a question about Terry?” “If I can give you an answer, I will. However I still respect the Official Secrets Act, so I hope your question has nothing to do with our operational escapades.” “Did Terry always have such a fucking obsession with time?” Simon immediately started laughing. A big, from the toes, belly laugh. “He used to call me at six o’clock in the fucking morning every bloody day. ‘Alright me old mucker, rise and shine, my watch says, on my mark, 06oohrs. We all synchronised matey?’” Simon gave Charlie a silent round of applause for credible impersonation of their friend. Charlie couldn’t help himself, “He used to leave bloody answer machine messages with the same thing. I asked him once, how the fuck am I going to synch up our watches from a fucking message. All I ever got was a, ‘Don’t be so fucking cheeky.’ Followed by a playful punch in the arm.” “He never knew his own strength did Terrence. I have scar tissue on my arm to from his friendly jabs.” They fell silent. Charlie lit another cigarette and when he crushed it into the Watney’s ashtray, both men stood up as if it was a pre-arranged signal. At Simon’s insistence, they drove past Justin’s house twice. The detached abode boasted a large front garden. On the first pass Charlie swore loudly. He explained that the front door was new and someone must have shot him through the wood. It sent his mind into a black rage, he reigned his fury back in and drove around the quiet streets of Totteridge until he let enough time elapse before making the second pass. He realised that either Mikey or, less likely, Justin had fired at him knowing there was no need of conversation. They had just simply decided to kill him. It reinforced his initial conclusion that Terry’s death was perpetrated by their colleagues and friends. He just had no idea why. He pulled the TR6 over to a vacant parking space about one hundred yards from the entrance to Justin’s dwelling. “Give me twenty minutes before you go in.” With that Simon had clambered out of the car and was walking purposefully down the tree-lined road. Charlie was alone with himself for the first time since France. It was a little unnerving to him that he felt no trepidation with what he was about to do. He was very conscious of the fact that these could his last moments on earth. He pushed that thought away as quickly as it had arrived. He closed his eyes and recalled a mental image of Justin’s house. The front door opened directly onto the living room, to his right and slightly off centre would be the black cotton covered sofa angled slightly to the doorway. To his left would be the door leading to his games room. To his right, the expensive stereo system stacked against the powder blue painted wall. Directly ahead would be the kitchen, separated from the living room by a wall that spanned three quarters of the width. One opening led to the stairs, the other the kitchen and back garden. His mind wandered to the wild parties they had been to there. Justin was the dealer for many a rock band. Cocaine and naked groupies, complete madness. That was until Justin and Mikey started with the smack. Both had habits and had become more and more introverted. Charlie began to see why Terry had been so insistent that they start separating their business from Justin. They obviously could not be in control, why would they want to kill him before finding out what Terry had not told them. He was thinking too fast and could not order his thoughts. Looking at his watch he saw that fifteen minutes had passed. His mind and body started to ramp up, he cut off all extraneous emotion and random clutter in his mind. He focused his whole intellect on what he had to do. His hands began to shake, his heart pumped madly, thumping against his ribs. He started his preparation, letting the rage build and then choking it back. Breathing deeply, and slowing his heart rate down until he felt electric. He was ready. Placing a cigarette in his mouth, he lit it and inhaled as deeply as Hamilton had done. He examined the Browning, released the magazine and emptied out the bullets. He reloaded it, replacing the two shells he had expended on the driver. He flicked off the safety and cocked the weapon. Fourteen rounds. With one last check to make sure the silencer was tight on the barrel, he left the car. He stopped momentarily and retrieved the keys from his pocket. He slipped them on top of the sun visor. Simon would look there if he was unable to tell him where they were. He shut the door gently and holding the gun tight against his thigh walked in the direction of this part of his destiny. It did not take him very long to cover the distance to the house. Once more he forced the adrenalin to obey him and started to walk down the paved pathway, his strides getting longer until he was almost as fast as a slow jogger. Ten feet from the new door he raised up the gun and fired two rounds just above head height through the wood, the attendant noises had hardly faded as Charlie focused all his energy to the ball of his foot as it hammered into the lock side of the frame. The wood splintered and gave way, he did not check his momentum as he dived onto the carpet and rolled once to the far wall. He stood up and held up the gun in a two handed stance in front of him. He had noticed two figures on the sofa as he flew into the room. Standing now, he was amazed to see Green sitting next to Justin. He nearly succumbed to the surprise but recovered his wits in a mille second. “Green, shut the fucking door. Justin, where’s Mikey?” Neither man spoke or moved. Their shock was total. Frozen like wax works they gazed at him uncomprehendingly. He repeated the sentence and it was Green who reacted first. “You shut the fucking roger.” Charlie fired a round into the lush blue carpet at Greens feet. Eleven. “Close the door.” Said Charlie evenly. “Where the fuck is Mikey?” he repeated to Justin as Green got up and moved toward the open and broken door. Justin had his arms wrapped around him as if the room was freezing. He had the fear in his eyes. Beads of sweat were forming on his brow, he was gently rubbing his biceps. It was apparent to Charlie that Justin was in need of a fix. That was an advantage. Green, however was utterly unexpected. Green was now standing by the closed entrance. “Sit the fuck down.” Charlie said, trying his best to keep his voice at a monotone. They stood ten feet apart, Charlie forcing his features into complete unmoving stone. Green’s body language was all wrong, Mikey was here in the house. “Please, just sit down.” Green hesitated a beat and then moved to the sofa and sat. Charlie crossed the floor and stood with his back to the entrance. His eyes settled on Justin, he was biting his lower lip and riveted on the door to the games room. Charlie forced his peripheral vision to it’s maximum. He caught a change in light, and he framed the faux brass door handle against the matt white paint of the door and saw it moving slowly downward. The seconds were minutes in Charlie’s brain. He was invincible. He swung his gaze back to check Green and then bringing his gun up into a firing stance, turned, and in one fluid motion pulled the trigger three times placing the bullets through the wood at a forty five degree angle six inches apart the first just above and to the left of the lever. Eight. As if he hadn’t moved at all, the gun was now back where it was just seconds before, levelled at the policeman. From the direction of the shattered doorway came a muffled cry and then the unmistakable sound of a body falling onto the floor. Charlie just couldn’t help himself, “They don’t make doors like they used to, eh, Justin.” Justin’s face had turned to a mask of pure horror. He was hugging himself tightly now, rocking backward and forward, it seemed that he might start to weep. Green was unmoved. His expression remained the same. Charlie had noted that both men were wearing jeans, he told them to stand up. They both did so, one reluctantly and the other like a schoolboy. “Place your hands deep in the front pockets.” When he was satisfied that his command was carried out he told the pair to sit back down. Charlie backed his way cautiously to the room where the plaintive cries had begun to emanate. When his back came to rest against the smooth plaster wall, he brought up the Browning again and pointed it at Green. “Don’t do it, Norman. You know I won’t miss.” With that he rounded on the door, weapon held in a two handed grip, angled down and for the second time in ten minutes kicked a door off it’s hinges. Mikey lay on the floor, blood soaking through his t-shirt. The bullets had obviously struck him somewhere in the upper body. He could not tell exactly, the white fabric was crimson. He took a quick look back at the sofa, his two captives were straining to see what Charlie had discovered. Mikey was laying with on his back, his feet toward the open ingress. “You fuck, Charlie. You’ve fucking killed me.” Mikey started to cough with the effort of speaking, and small foam bubbles tinged with red began to form on his lips. Charlie reached over and took hold of Mikey’s right wrist, he roughly pulled at him. Charlie was surprised at first at how heavy he was, but he was a superman and in a long minute the injured man was laying in front of Justin. He stepped back and surveyed the scene before him. Justin was in shock now and unable to speak, he was mumbling half words between sobs. Green, however, remained impassive. He glared at Charlie with a degree of hate that Charlie could actually feel. Mikey lay almost still, his breathing laboured and uneven. He wasn’t long for this world. He wondered briefly where Simon was, and then asked the question that had burned inside him for months. “What happened to Terry?” The words hung there, trapped in the silence of the room. Green looked at Justin, a mean grimace twisted his lips as he spat out, “Don’t say a fucking word. Don’t give him the satisfaction. He’s going to top us both either way.” He glared back at Charlie, a weird self-confidence in his eyes. Charlie felt that indefinable six sense creep up his spine and place a cold hand on the base of his skull. His adrenalin threatened to drown him in nervous energy, he choked it back and took a deep lungful of air. He decided to try another tack. “Justin, you look like you could use a little bump. You must have a stash in here somewhere. Tell me what happened and I’ll let you have your medicine.” “Oh Jesus! Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck happened to us? Charlie,” for the first time Justin looked into Charlie’s eyes, “I’m sorry, it all went wrong.” “Shut up, you little prick!” shouted Green, “Shut the fuck up!” Charlie aimed the gun at the Detectives mid section and said calmly, “One more word and I’ll blow your cock and balls off.” Green said something that sounded like ‘shit’ under his breath and was silent. “Carry on, Justin.” “The silver snuff box on the stereo.” Charlie failed to understand at first, and then remembered his offer to ease Justin’s shakes. He took three paces over to the sound equipment, retrieved the prized heirloom and returned to squat in front of the glass coffee table. He gently placed the container onto it. Justin squirmed in his seat, his hands still stuck in pockets. Charlie reached out to the prone body of Mikey and ruffled his hair, “Still with us Mikey, me old mate?” he asked cheerily. A soft hiss escaped Mikey’s lips and then with a great effort he breathed, “Cunt” Charlie looked down on him and replied in a sing song syntax, “Well, not long now, eh, matey. Must be bloody painful, all those bullets inside you.” Mikey moaned, but did not offer a response. Charlie snapped open the lid of the silver box and saw the twist of cellophane that the smack was wrapped in. He reached in and held it up in front of Justin’s expectant face. He could feel the gaze upon him as he deftly undid the small parcel with his left hand. He tapped out a small amount of the brown powder onto the table top. Then after causally dropping the package on the floor, he looked up to see Justin almost drooling. His whole being was fixated on the tiny granules that lay inertly before him. Charlie picked up a playing card that had been left there for the very purpose of smoothing out the piles into more shapely lines. Charlie did this and then stood back up. Justin was leaning forward as if trying to inhale the heroin from three feet away. “What happened to Terry?” Charlie said loudly reiterating his unanswered question.
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