Nate Bradley wanted to get into Jacky Benjamin’s home and interrogate him. He needed to know who supplied him with drugs. His investigations so far had told him that not only had he supplied the tablet which had killed his son, he had also supplied his wife with a cocktail of drugs. Patrick Lloyd had a score to settle with Jacky Benjamin, too. He had ordered a plaything from him and then pulled out at the last minute. Jacky Benjamin had wanted a Chinese woman for a night. Simple enough to arrange, but he had called it off and made Patrick look foolish with his contacts. To make matters worse, Benjamin had spread rumours that it had been Patrick who had reneged on the deal. He lived or died by his reputation, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. When Patrick had contacted Benjamin about the rumours, the dealer had threatened to have him killed and thrown in the Mersey. Patrick wasn’t having that from a man half his age. He wanted payback, and luckily for him, so did Nate Bradley. Patrick had an affinity with him. They were both killers. Bad people magnetise with one another. What he didn’t understand was the fact that Nate killed for a purpose, whereas Patrick killed for pleasure. They were planning to break into Benjamin’s house, take his money and drugs and execute him. Patrick wanted to redistribute the drugs for profit, but Nate would not hear of it. He had lost his wife and son because of drugs, and he wanted them taken out of circulation. There was quite a stash building up in his lockup again. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with them, but he didn’t want Patrick to sell them. As they planned the hit, Patrick had other ideas.
They sat a distance away from the dealer’s house and watched. After a week of reconnaissance, they knew his movements and decided to hit him the following night. They drove to the Bluebell estate and waited for the shellsuits to leave. It was two o’clock in the morning when the bedroom light went off, and then they climbed out of Patrick’s van. Benjamin must have gone to bed for the night. They pulled balaclavas on and grabbed their tools. Patrick was fascinated by Nate. There was coolness about him that he admired. It was obvious that he was a professional. He didn’t know how far he would go or what he was trying to achieve exactly, but he would find out tonight.
“Did you kill him?” Patrick asked out of the blue.
“Who?” Nate answered.
“Carl Lewis, the kid that disappeared.” Patrick smiled beneath the balaclava. He knew the answer but he wanted to know how deep their trust went.
“Yes, he killed my son,” was the simple answer.
“What about Benjamin?” Patrick pushed.
“He killed him too. Let’s get on with it.” Nate closed the door and walked toward the back of the house.
“What about whoever supplied Benjamin? When does it end?” Patrick beamed as he spoke.
“We’ll find out who supplied him tonight.” Nate mumbled. He wasn’t sure when it would be over. He didn’t care.
As they approached the house, Nate kept low and moved fast. It was basic training in the forces. Keep low, move fast and watch your corners. Soldiers never forgot it, because it was what kept them alive in urban warfare. The dogs were already dead. Patrick had poisoned them three days earlier. Benjamin devastated, thinking it had been retaliation by someone with a grudge. Patrick used pliers to cut through the camera wires and disable the alarm box. He drilled through the window frame and threaded a wire around the window latch. They were inside the house in seconds.
The living room was a mess, beer cans and fast food cartons littered the floor. There was a teenage boy asleep on the settee, snoring peacefully. Nate moved quickly and pulled him off the settee by his feet. Patrick was on him, gagging him with a strip of towel. They fastened zip ties around his wrists and ankles and then dragged him into the corner.
“Make a sound and you are dead,” Patrick hissed. The teenager nodded. As Nate moved out of earshot, Patrick whispered in the boy’s ear. “You’re dead anyway, but we”ll have some fun first, kiddo.” The teenager`s eyes widened in fear and tears formed. Patrick liked it when they cried.
“Where does he keep the drugs and the money?” Patrick asked. It was a long shot, but worth a try. The juvenile shook his head. He was scared, but he didn’t want to grass. Patrick slapped him hard across the face, splitting his lip. They moved upstairs as one unit, listening for any sign that their presence was known. It was silent. Patrick opened the front bedroom door and they moved toward the slumbering lump in the double bed. There was a baseball bat leaning against the wall next to a bedside table. The table was packed with dirty coffee mugs in various stages of deterioration. There was a smell of mould mixed with sweaty feet pervading the room. Patrick picked up the baseball bat and before Nate could protest, he smashed it into the drug dealer’s knees.
“What the fuck!” Benjamin bellowed. He sat up and tried to scramble for the drawer of the bedside cabinet. There was a gun there, but he couldn’t reach it. They were too quick. He was bound and gagged in minutes. They carried him down the stairs between them and fastened him to a wooden chair with bungee cords. His teenage friend looked on with fear in his eyes, especially when Patrick plugged in the Morphy-Richards steam iron he had found in the kitchen. Nate was sharpening a carving knife in front of Jacky’s face. His eyes widened in terror as he started to cut his bedclothes off with the blade. He looked at the iron steaming and realised what was going to happen. As Nate cut the elastic in his boxer shorts and ripped them off, Jacky Benjamin panicked and started choking on the gag. He was trying to say something.
“Take the gag off,” Nate said.
“I think he’s nervous, do you?” Patrick laughed.
“Most people hate ironing.” Nate bent down and looked into the dealer’s eyes. “Especially naked it can be dangerous. You wouldn’t want to burn the crown jewels, would you?”
“What do you want?” Benjamin gasped as the gag was removed. “Who are you?”
“We want your money and your drugs, Jacky.” Patrick picked up the iron and held it close to his face. He pressed the steam button and the iron hissed as it released boiling vapour from the ports in the heat plate. It was close enough to act as a warning.
“I don’t keep anything here,” Benjamin lied.
Nate was about to speak when Patrick pressed the iron against the dealer’s face. He held it there and pressed the steam button again. Jacky Benjamin screamed. Nate rammed the gag back into his mouth, worried the screaming could be heard from outside. He glared at Patrick, but didn’t say anything. There had been no need to burn Jacky yet. The psychological threat was enough. It was becoming clear that Patrick was impulsive, and impulse lead to mistakes. Nate Bradley didn’t like mistakes.
“I’ll ask you again. Where are your drugs and your money?” Patrick asked. He sniffed the burnt skin that was stuck to the iron and laughed. There was a perfect imprint of the heat plate burnt into Benjamin’s cheek. He was trembling with shock and tears streamed from his eyes. Patrick pulled the gag out of his mouth.
The drug dealer gritted his teeth and swallowed hard before answering. “Fuck off!”
Patrick was about to burn him a second time, when Nate stopped him. “Wait.” He held up his hand. “Do you want this crazy bastard to burn your face off for the sake of your money? He will carry on all night, can you?”
“There’s a couple of grand in the drawer next to the bed,” Benjamin said. “Take it and piss off.”
“Oh, I think you are insulting our intelligence, Jacky boy,” Nate laughed. “A clever boy like you keeps more than a few grand around. One last time, then I’ll leave him to it. Where are the money and the drugs?”
Jacky Benjamin looked at the iron and winced at the sight of his blackened skin melted to it. He thought for long seconds about his answer. “Look, whoever is paying you, I’ll double it.”
“No one is paying us,” Nate said flatly.
“Are you Leon’s muppets?” Benjamin asked, looking from one to the other. “Is he pissed off with me? Is someone else after my area or what?”
“Last chance, where is it?” Nate asked calmly. Patrick pressed the steam button once again.
“Fuck off!” Jacky Benjamin threw his weight backward in an attempt to escape the bungees. The chair toppled and he landed on his back. He thrashed about, desperately trying to escape. Patrick forced the dealer’s knees apart and pushed the steam iron into his groin. Benjamin let out a bloodcurdling scream as his testicles sizzled on the metal. “Okay! Stop,” he gurgled. His breathing was shallow and his eyes looked as if they may pop out of his head. Despite his pleas, Patrick held the iron there, fascinated by the pain his captive was feeling. “Stoooooop!” Jacky wailed.
“Stop it.” Nate pulled Patrick’s arm.
“What is your problem?” Patrick turned on him. “This scumbag killed your son.” The smell of scorched flesh filled the air. Nate saw something in Patrick’s eyes. Pure hatred. He had seen a thousand interrogators at work. Some of them enjoyed their subject’s pain more than others, but Patrick had something else. He was just plain evil.
“He is no good to me unconscious just now,” Nate said calmly. He was cool as a cucumber. They looked at each other and there was tension between them, but Nate had to take control of the situation. Patrick had to realise who was in charge here. “We need him to talk.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Patrick laughed again. “I bet that hurt, lad.” He mocked Benjamin cruelly.
“It’s in the washing machine,” Benjamin gasped. “Take the panel off the front. My stash is in there.”
Nate nodded to Patrick, who reluctantly put the iron down and went into the kitchen to check out the washing machine. The younger boy he had tied up earlier was sobbing as he watched things unfold. He patted the terrified teenager on the head as he stepped over him. “Don’t worry, you’re next,” he laughed. The teenager started crying and a dark stain spread across the crotch of his jeans. Watching them burning his boss was too much. He decided that drug dealing was not the glamorous career he had thought it might be. Patrick grabbed a screwdriver from a drawer and forced the front panel. It clattered on the floor.
“What did he mean?” Benjamin sobbed.
“What?” Nate replied.
“What did he mean, I killed your son?” He was sobbing and his face was twisted with pain.
“He died after taking one of your ecstasy tablets,” Nate answered calmly.
“What?” Benjamin tried to turn around to see Nate properly. “When? How do you know he bought it from me?”
“He bought it from a kid called Carl Lewis.”
“Is he the kid that’s gone missing?” His eyes widened as he spoke. “The police have been all over me about him and his mate, Grebby. They’re both missing. You must be Nate Bradley’s father.”
“Bingo,” Nate nodded.
“Is that what this about?” Benjamin whined.
“Pretty much.”
“I’m sorry about your son. What’s your name?”
“It’s the same – Nate,” he said quietly.
“Well, Nate, I am sorry about your son. I am really sorry about your son,” the dealer sounded genuine. “I have never wanted to hurt any of the youngsters.”
“Hurt them? You killed Nate.” Nate Bradley senior was still calm. His voice was clear and crisp. “You killed Nate but you haven’t stopped selling the same shit that poisoned him, have you?”
“It was an accident, Nate. It was a one in a million accident,” the dealer cried.
“One too many from where I am stood,” Nate answered.
Patrick walked back into the room with a sports bag full of money and drugs. He was laughing and rooting through the contents like a child in a sweet shop.
“Look what we have here. We have Charlie, weed, speed, ecstasy and smack, plus about a hundred grand. We’ve hit the jackpot,” he laughed.
“Take it all. Take it all and I give you my word that I won’t come after you. Call it compensation,” Benjamin was talking quickly. Patrick’s reappearance had made him panic again. He knew the identity of his attacker and so did the teenager. That was not good. If they left him alive, there was the chance of him looking for revenge or his drugs and money back. He could go to the police, although that would be unlikely; how did you complain that somebody had stolen your drugs? The chances of them leaving him alive were slim. “Take it. I am genuinely sorry about your son.”
“Shut up, scumbag.” Patrick stamped on his chest.
“Who supplies you?” Nate asked calmly.
“What?” Benjamin looked incredulous.
“Who supplies you with drugs?”
“What does it matter?” Benjamin whined. He didn’t think he was going to walk away from this one. Patrick picked up the iron and pressed the steam button. Benjamin began to sob uncontrollably. He shook his head. “I buy them from Leon Tanner. He gets them from a Turk called Sally. His name is Salim. He owns Connections in town.”
“Where does he get them?” Nate asked. “Who is at the top of the tree?”
“I know him,” Patrick interrupted. “He’s one of the Turkish mafia. They’re the biggest importers in the country. They’re right at the top of the pile.”
“Fair enough,” Nate nodded. “Then I’m done here.”
“Okay, boss. You take the stash and I’ll finish things off here. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” Patrick said. He handed Nate the bag and guided him toward the backdoor. “There is no need for both of us to hang around. You put the gear safe and I’ll tidy up here.”
“Please don’t leave me here with him,” Benjamin said.
“You didn’t care who you hurt. Why should I?” Nate replied. He wasn’t sure why Patrick was so eager to stay, but he didn’t care.
“Your missus liked her smack, didn’t she?” Jacky laughed like a wild man. He realised he was going to finish the night dead or dying. The guy with the iron was a lunatic. He could see that in his eyes. There was a little comfort in hitting back the only way he could. “Hey, I said your missus liked her smack.”
“What?” Nate stopped at the door and turned back.
“Yes, when you said the name, Bradley. I knew that was your missus,” Jacky sneered. “She was alright for her age, when she wasn’t smashed of her head, that is.”
“She was my wife and Nate’s mother,” Nate spoke quietly. “You destroyed her for cash.”