All or Nothing (28 page)

Iain looked at Kinzy. He said nothing. Then he spat in the other man’s face. The spittle hit the mask with a small DING. “Go fuck yourself,” he yelled.

Kinzy again gave his evil maniacal laugh. “Fuck myself? Trust me, if my dick was long enough, I would do so on every possible occasion. Who needs pussy when you can do it to yourself? Your manners however, are abysmal.” Kinzy punched Iain in the face. Iain felt the bone in his nose crack and blood streamed down his face. “Don’t ever swear at me again.”

Iain gathered a mouthful of blood and spat it in his enemy’s face. “Arsehole! Cunt! Fuck!”

Kinzy punched Iain again. This time, it hit Iain in the side of the head. He nearly fell over the edge of the roof.

“You think that’s funny, huh?” Kinzy yelled at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? Get off on pain, do ya? Let’s see if you are still laughing once I cut your dick off and shove it up—”

“—Hey! Arsehole! Over here!” came the shout.

Kinzy stopped talking and turned around. Kathryn was standing a few feet away. Her shotgun was aimed at his head. “Back away from him,” she told him. “Do it now.”

Kinzy threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Sheeet. I forgot about you, girly. I’m not sure how, those titties are mighty fine. Boyd might have been a retard, but he knew a good pair of tits when he saw them.”

Kathryn moved the shotgun. “I said get away from him. I won’t ask again.”

Kinzy didn’t move. He reached over to his mask. His hand paused above it. “Mind if I take this off?”

Kathryn didn’t say anything.

The man remained in position. “Suit yourself.” Kinzy deftly reached for his belt. In one fluent motion he snatched the knife from its sheath, flipped it in the air and threw it straight at Iain. The knife hit Iain square in the chest, the blade apparently embedded into his sternum. As Iain looked down at the blade he gave a dull groan.

Kinzy looked back at Kathryn. “Your manners are abysmal. You should answer when spoken to like a good little girl who—”

Kathryn fired the shotgun. The bullet hit Kinzy just below the chin. The skin and muscle on his chest seemed to evaporate in a red mist. The impact was so severe that the pellets tore through his torso just before the body racked over with the momentum of the blast. Skin and viscera filled the air for a few slow seconds before everything settled. Kinzy had flown back a few feet and crashed to the floor, his body sliding on the smooth surface. He was dead before he came to a stop against one of the generators.

Kathryn threw the gun down and ran to Iain. As she did, she noticed Iain was falling backwards over the edge of the drop. Past the point of no return, he couldn’t regain his balance and toppled out of sight.

“Iain, noooo!”
she yelled.

Kathryn raced to the edge of the low wall. Just in time, she managed to grab his good arm. She grunted, his weight driving her downwards.

Iain was hanging onto her, swinging from side to side. Kathryn had both hands gripping his arm, struggling and fighting to hold him there, suspended in mid-air, four storeys above the concrete road. The road stretched in front of the office building. Kathryn saw the jeep from earlier was now parked on top of the dead body, that of the man whose card she’d stolen to gain access. It was the jeep that had forced her to seek sanctuary all those hours ago, some way off in the distance. The theatre building was now opposite her. The pink neon lights were illuminating the front of the building whose roof she was on.

Iain was motionless now. A dead weight. The knife was sticking out of his chest. His bad arm hung beside him like an afterthought, its damaged bandage flapping in the night air. He was looking down. With a growing sense of dread, she knew that his weight would only become heavier and he seemed to be losing consciousness. “Iain,” she shouted. “
Iain! Wake up!
”

Iain stirred. At first, he looked straight ahead. Then he realised where he was and started to thrash around. Kathryn grimaced in pain, her chest was leaning against the low wall’s brickwork. Every movement Iain made vibrated through her. “
Iain, don't move. I've got you!"

Iain looked up at Kathryn. His eyes were hollow, empty, as if devoid of life. As if he'd resigned himself to death the moment the knife had found its mark. He smiled weakly. “Kathryn? What are you doing?”

Kathryn started to struggle to hang on to him. “Saving your life. What does it look like I’m doing?”

Iain looked down and then back at Kathryn. “What’s the point? I won’t survive this knife wound. I’ll die before we find a hospital.”

Although she didn’t want to face it, Kathryn knew Iain was right, but she didn’t say so. “That’s bullshit and you know it. If I can get you back on the roof we can do something about your wounds. First we have to get you up here, you aren’t getting any lighter.” Her chest was starting to hurt with the strain.

Tears welled up in his eyes. “I don’t want to do it. Kathryn, do me a favour and let me go? I have no life outside of this place. I lost my wife. I just want to see her one more time.”

Kathryn didn’t like what she was hearing. “You can’t see her again! For heaven’s sake, she’s dead!”

Iain nodded. Although no words escaped his lips, Kathryn could read the resignation on his face. “Iain, don’t do this, we can talk about this. We can talk over coffee, remember?”

“Kathryn, please, let go. You know it’s the right thing to do. Just let me go.”

Kathryn found she was crying uncontrollably. Her muscles were burning with the struggle to keep hanging onto Iain’s arm. She just had to swing him up onto the roof now or she would lose her grip. “Iain, no! I can’t! I won’t let you go!”

He smiled. “Goodbye, Kathryn. It was a pleasure meeting you.” Iain managed to use his injured arm to reach up and pluck Kathryn’s right hand fingers from his wrist. Her left arm was all that remained between Iain and certain death. “Iain, don’t! Grab my hand.
Grab it!
” Tears ran down her face.

No more words were exchanged. Kathryn knew what he wanted, but she couldn’t let him go. She was losing her grip. Without Iain’s cooperation, there was no hope of saving him.

Iain whispered, “Do it now.”

Their eyes connected. Kathryn felt immense sympathy for Iain. They’d been through a lot together, but she knew to respect his wishes.

After several seconds, Kathryn released her grip. Her arm had begun to shake from the exertion. For moments, Iain seemed to float in mid-air, a smile of peace on his lips, as she heard him say: “Honey. I’m home.”

He fell to the concrete road, four floors below. Kathryn moved back onto the roof, not wanting to see what had happened to him. She vomited on the floor. She couldn’t stop thinking about the sickening thud she’d heard as Iain's body collided with the concrete.

Iain was reunited with his wife Jeanette now. Kathryn knew he would be happy.

She wasn’t a religious person, but she believed that on some kind of plane or in some dimension, they would be reunited.

Kathryn moved her back to the edge of the roof.

“Goodbye, Iain,” she said to herself. “Thanks for saving my life.”

THIRTY-FOUR

Rupert was hoping that he hadn’t made the wrong decision.

Despite the merits of hiding in the tree, it left him a sitting duck. His foes had just come through the gate, accompanied by John. They'd fanned out through his backyard in a triangular formation: swift, silent and deadly. They were taking an infinite amount of time to reach their destinations, something he assumed to be standard military training. Unknown territory was never taken lightly. However, their slow speed was an advantage to him.

It was also a hindrance. The wait was becoming tiresome. The painkillers were making him drowsy, an unfortunate side effect. In fact, the time he had spent in the tree had given him second thoughts about his entire plan.

But it was too late now.

One of the men was approaching his destination. He'd overheard John’s instructions, and Rupert was doing his best to remain dead still. Trained soldiers only needed a hint of noise to alert them to the enemy’s presence. This guy was heading towards the shed, just below where he was hiding in the tree.

Step, pause. Step, step, pause
.

The man’s gun was held out in front of him. He disappeared behind the shed for a moment and then reappeared beside it.

Step, pause. Step, step, pause
.

Rupert’s hunter stopped when he saw the shed door, now standing directly below his quarry. If Rupert had reached out, he could have touched the shed’s roof. The branches and leaves were camouflaging him. He remained still. The man stared, transfixed, at the door. He wasn’t talking to anyone else. His concentration was focused on the door alone. He slowly moved towards it.

Step, pause. Step, step, pause
.

Right hand holding his weapon, the left gripped the edge of the door and swung it towards him. It made no sound. After a second, he stepped into the shed and vanished from Rupert’s sight. He could hear groaning sounds as the wooden boards were trodden on.

Rupert used this opportunity to ready his weapon, pulling the silenced pistol from his belt. He closed his eyes. He realised that, once he had fired, his cover would be blown. They would find him swiftly and most likely kill him. He could only wait and hope that his plan would work.

The man emerged from the shed, still deep in concentration. His head came into view. Aiming the gun downwards, Rupert breathed out slowly. Calming his nerves, he prepared himself.

The man heard a sound from above. He looked up, then raised his weapon.

Rupert shot him in the eye. A single shot that he’d lined up perfectly by judging the perfect firing position. The shot was not a long one, a few feet at most. Even at close quarters, Rupert knew he wasn’t a good marksman, but the odds were in his favour. The bullet emerged from the back of the man’s head, spraying blood onto the open shed door. He fell slowly, his body collapsing against the door and pushing it against its hinges. Creaks rang out as the door buckled and broke away from the door frame. The dead body and the door crashed down onto the wet grass.  It wasn’t a loud noise. More of a wet thud.

But it was enough to alert the others.

They turned towards the source of the noise.

“There!”

“Where is he?”

“The tree, he’s in the fucking tree!”

Rupert rolled off the branch.

Seconds later, the branch was obliterated by automatic gunfire. Bark and wood sprayed into the air. Branches and leaves were shredded into pieces. Rupert landed on his feet and then hit the deck. He covered his head as the tree’s remnants rained down on him. He dared to glance upwards, though his vision was partially blocked by the shed.

Which was all part of the plan.

He rolled over to the shed’s wooden exterior and leant against it. Cautious footsteps approached. They stopped, probably for time to gauge the risk. For a moment, Rupert heard nothing. Then a series of metallic clicks indicated that his pursuers were reloading their weapons. He heard empty magazines hit the wet grass.

“Rupert, my old friend, is that you?” called a voice from somewhere.

Rupert said nothing. He was trying to locate John by sound alone. He heard the two men, who seemed to be located further to the right hand side.

“Where is he?”

“Not sure. Be alert.”

John addressed Rupert again. “Rupert, listen. This doesn’t have to get violent. We just want to talk.”

Rupert said nothing. If he gave himself away now, he wouldn’t last two minutes: he was seriously outgunned. He reached into his belt and pulled out the screwdriver. He gripped it in his fist, waiting.

“Rupert. I begin to tire of your arrogance. Just come out and we can discuss this.”

The two other men were whispering to one another. Rupert risked a glance around the shed. First, he saw the fallen man’s feet. He was lying sprawled on top of the broken door. The two guys were standing behind the body, talking to each other and making hand gestures. Neither of them looked in his direction. From the looks of it, one of them was going to try to outflank him from the other side of the shed. He would be surrounded.

Rupert swallowed. He knew what he had to do.

He moved back to the other side of the shed. “John?” he called out.

Silence. Rupert heard hurried voices. John had joined his men, probably to plan a setup.

John responded: “Rupert! Finally. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Rupert smiled.
Unbelieveable
. “I’m fine. Can’t say the same for your man, though. How much did he cost you?”

John laughed. “Money isn’t important, what is important is that you're alive. As I said, we need to talk.”

The hidden man waited. He gave it twenty seconds. “Okay, we can talk. But your men have to throw their guns away first, though. Now, put them next to their dead buddy. I can’t be held responsible for what I will do otherwise. You saw how I handled Gunnar.”

And there it was: Rupert’s bargaining chip.

Rupert knew that, regardless of armies and backup, soldiers and fire power, he'd slain John’s golden boy with a knitting needle. Live, on his own private subscription film show. Which counted for something. If he hadn’t been upset about it, John wouldn’t have come with his men, he would simply have waited in his comfortable hideaway for his dirty business to be concluded. Killing the cameras had been a ploy which wouldn’t have worked if John’s ego was intact. Which it wasn’t. He had hired one of the most dangerous men he knew and things had gone wrong. It had earned Rupert the fear factor. So far, things seemed to be working.

As if to confirm this, the pair of killers placed their weapons next to their fallen comrade and backed up. The plan was working. So far.

“Good,” Rupert approved. ”Now, your men. Get them to back up to the house. They have to stand on the porch. I’ll know when they get there, as I will hear glass crunch underfoot.”

Another hurried discussion followed, then there was a pause. Footsteps crushed the wet grass. Seconds later, Rupert heard the crunching sound of glass being trampled underfoot. So far, so good. Rupert wondered how far he could push his luck. He intended to find out.

“Good,” he called down. ”Now, I'm going to come out. If anyone raises a weapon, I shoot them. Got it? I already killed two people tonight, and I'm willing to kill more.” Rupert slid the screwdriver into his belt and prepared himself. Appearing to be empty handed was the best plan, so as to avoid being shot. His gun was back in his waistband, hidden by his coat. He edged across to the side of the shed. The painkillers had taken effect and the drowsiness had dissipated. He collected his katana and looped it over his shoulder. Holding his hands up, Rupert took a deep breath and stepped out.

John was standing alone in the centre of the yard. He'd also backed up a few feet. Rupert stopped and surveyed the area. He looked at the two men on the porch, standing still, arms crossed. They looked calm. He couldn’t detect any anger. He stepped beside their fallen comrade. He bent down and took the magazines out of the man’s weapons. He threw them across the garden into the vegetable patch and dropped the guns back onto the sodden grass. Content, he walked over to John. His enemy smiled.

“My my, time hasn’t been good to you,” John said. “You look a mess.”

Rupert said nothing.

“Going to ignore me now, are you? Fine, have it your way.”

Rupert stared back at John. He kept his front facing his adversary. “What do you want?”

John rubbed his hands together. “I want us to have a conversation – man to man – like this.” John swung his finger back and forth, pointing at each of them.

Rupert grinned. “Man to man? And you bring an army. Shame on you. I think that defeats the object of your plan.”

“True. And it can be easily rectified.”

“So rectify it. Now.”

John said nothing. “Okay. But don’t panic. I am going to take something from my pocket, okay?”

Rupert’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, do it slowly.”

His enemy placed his hands in the air to show he wasn’t up to something. Then he carefully removed his Colt pistol from its holster and held it out, behind his back, raising both hands into the air once more. He looked as if he was being crucified on an invisible cross.

“Boys,” he called out over his shoulder. “Come over here and take my gun. I won’t be needing it.”

The two men didn’t move at first. They looked at each other warily, as Rupert wondered what John was up to. “What are you doing?” he asked.

John smiled. “What needs to be done.”

The two men approached John slowly. They moved cautiously, stepping off the porch and starting to cross the grass. Rupert kept his eye on John the entire time. The two men appeared in Rupert’s peripheral vision.

John stared at Rupert. “Now it really is man to man.”

All in a flash, John spun around and flipped the Colt into his hand and shot his man, Connor, in the face. Without pausing, he fired at his other man, James, shooting him in the face too. Blood whipped into the air as the bodies dropped like stones to the ground, crumpling together in a heap, dead before they hit. John turned back and levelled the gun at Rupert. Then he lowered it and returned it to his holster.

The killer laughed. “Happy now? You see, Rupert? You
play
the psychopath, using your act against me in my own fucking game. But the thing is, I
am
a psychopath – there's no need for me to pretend. I've done things that would seriously bring into question my career as a member of the church. You know this, it was you who nearly ruined it for me. Which is why I ruined your life in return. You see, I have money, wealth, not a care in the world. You had very little and you lost it all. We're two human beings cut from very different cloth. We don’t belong in the same universe, let alone in a game like this. But that’s the reason why I picked you.”

John paused. His hand slipped into his pocket and he took out a cigarette packet. He tapped the box and held it to his lips, and the box came away, leaving a cigarette between his lips. He lit it and blew out a stream of smoke.

“You were the perfect Choice for The Game. A perfect contrast. I don’t believe many weak-willed characters are worth watching. But when they evolve in front of your very eyes, as you have, into something you can have complete control over, well, that’s something to be proud of. A boy becoming a man, literally, in the space of mere hours. You came here a snivelling, cowardly, spineless piece of shit. And because of me? Your life finally has a glimpse of hope. You’re a guy who could actually become someone during his remaining years.”

Rupert said nothing.

John smiled again. “Seriously. I’m paying you a compliment. The least you can do is thank me for it. You've earned your stripes here tonight. You killed two of the deadliest men I personally knew, and it doesn’t even bother me. You know why? It’s my fault is why. I drove you to this, I made you a real man. Now. Thank me for it!”

Rupert remained silent. He flexed his neck muscles and continued staring at his enemy. His hand gripped the handle of the small sharp-bladed screwdriver that was tucked behind his belt. John took another drag on his cigarette and blew the smoke out immediately, so that it billowed out through his nostrils and lips, spreading all around.

The smile disappeared from John’s face, replaced by a furious glare. “You disrespectful piece of shit. After all I've done for you? This is how you repay me? I made you a man, something your peers and your bitch of a mother could
never
do.”

Rupert swung his left arm so that his hand came against the side of John’s head. The other man ducked, but it was too late. The hidden screwdriver did its worst, as Rupert slid the small blade along the side of John’s head, slicing deep into the skin below his hair. Blood started to well up from the wound as John placed his hand over the gash, throwing his cigarette to the ground. “What the fuck was that?”

The other man remained silent. He glared at John. “Don’t you ever speak about my mother.”

When he took his hands away from the wound, they were coated in a thin layer of blood. He smiled again. “Okay, fair enough. I deserved that.”