THE FIX: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 1) (8 page)

Rick Fuller's Story:

Finding the right calibre of staff for a job like Joel’s was never easy. There was no time. The other side, the Dutch, had the gear, the boat and the cash. They’d be expecting some form of investigation, even retribution. The job was to recover a great deal of money, stolen from a truly evil gangster with a huge ego. Trouble was, the thief was the biggest gangster in Europe, and other than our darling Susan, not a living soul appeared to have ever seen him.

Top quality people were never available at the drop of a hat, unless, of course, you were paying large sums of money. Fortunately I was.

Tanya was on her way from The Moss.

Des had just arrived from Manchester International Airport. His Glasgow flight had passed without incident and he was sitting in my lounge sipping black coffee laced with the best Irish single malt.

He was a fine chap. His wiry Scots frame stood barely five foot ten topped with dark brown wavy hair that was turning salt and pepper. His face was so weathered it looked like he’d left it out in the rain each night. His piercing blue eyes followed my every step. Not quite as quick as they used to, but still too quick for most.

Des’s forte was surveillance. His idea of a good time was sitting in a freezing hole in the ground for days on end, shitting into a plastic bag and watching big daft Irishmen come and go. He could also empty a 9mm SLP, one handed, into a target the size of a biscuit tin from thirty yards. You did not fuck with Desmond.

Since his more than honourable discharge from the Regiment, Des had been freelancing for various arms suppliers. He sold sighting systems and surveillance kit to Arabs, who would never know how to use it. It was not Des’s idea of fun.

I had scarcely told him the bare bones of the job on the phone when he’d snapped at it. Des had always been a fear junkie. It was the only drug he ever needed. I liked that and I liked him. He was a class performer, my solitary friend.

My only complaints were his clothes. He had never known how to dress. Lord knows I had tried to educate him over the years but to no avail. Other than good quality Irish brogues he appeared to shop solely at Marks and Sparks.

I had been a busy chap, booked all the flights and arranged some currency. I’d made as many enquiries about Susan as I could without upsetting anyone and had also paid a visit to my stash out in the country. My stash was my insurance and my legacy.

I’d arranged for Des and Susan to travel together on British Airways. Tanya and I would go KLM. If we did get a welcoming committee we would be harder to hit as two couples arriving at different times.

I had been briefing Des. I’d told him as much as I could about Joel and Susan. We knew the Dutch boys would be able to identify her as she had been the courier or broker on the two previous successful deals. Only Des and I would know the full SP. He was the only person on the planet I totally trusted.

As I finished the briefing Des’s wrinkles doubled to a smile. His Greenock accent had softened over the years.

“This is gonna be a wee bit sticky, mate,” he drained the remainder of his Gaelic, “and I reckon I’ve got the short straw baby-sitting Joel Davies’s missus.”

“Fair go, Des, but you know Tanya’s temper. She would top her before we got across the Channel and we are going to need both ladies for this job.”

Des burst into a laugh. He’d met Tanya before and knew exactly what I meant. The Jamaicans were not noted for their patience with petulant, pampered whites.

He lowered his tone. “What if she’s been in on the deal with the Dutch since the marriage proposal? If so, we’ll be compromised from the start, we could be walking into a minefield.”

I nodded in agreement.

Des had come to the same conclusion as I. What if Susan had decided to go into business for herself? What if her marriage to Joel and the two previous deals had all been bait for the big payday? If so, she was the ultimate grafter. If she was a con artist, she had made over a million pounds in less than two years and lived in luxury whilst earning it.

“She gets no contact with anyone outside the team unless it’s to Davies himself. Either you or I must be present even then.”

Des nodded. “What about Davies himself? Does he trust her?”

I felt my mouth turn at the edges.

“Who the fuck knows, Des, he wouldn’t be the first to be conned by a pretty face, would he?”

The doorbell announced Tanya’s arrival.

She strode in with a broad grin for Des and me, rested a manicured hand on Des’s shoulder and pecked me on the cheek. She wore a black, figure-hugging, two-piece tailored suit by Karen Millen. It caused a deep wrinkling of Des’s brow. She dropped a single suitcase onto the carpet and poured herself a brandy without invitation.

Tanya knew the outline of the job. That was all she needed, that and her fifty grand fees. She swallowed and wiped her lip carefully with her index finger. This time the nail was black to match her suit.

“So, boys, we’re going on a holiday to Amsterdam, eh?”

I told her the travel arrangements. She nodded.

“This Susan Davies, can we turn our backs on her or what?”

Des piped up, and as casual as you like said, “The first sign of a problem and I’ll slot her.” 

We both knew he meant it. Only I knew it couldn’t happen. We needed her. Well, for the time being anyway.

My entry phone beeped and I lifted the receiver. I saw the black and white image of Susan Davies. Even two inches tall and out of perspective she looked stunning. A lift ride later and she arrived at the door flanked by what she would describe as her ‘security’, which consisted of a fat dickhead carrying a mountain of luggage.

He was red-faced and out of breath. If this guy had to help you in a barney he would be as much use as a chocolate fireguard.

Des eyed him with mild amusement and turned to our esteemed guest.

“So, Susan, I take it you are Susan? Is this your personal porter?” It took a second or two for the tub of lard to realise he was having the piss taken out of him. As the light came on he dropped the cases and squared himself at Des.

“I’m Mrs Davies personal security. So shut it.”

Des raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Deepest apologies, pal; personal security? My word, you must be important.”

Susan had no time for the show at all. I could see the change in her. With no Joel Davies about there was something different. A tiny change maybe, but it was there. And it wasn’t what I expected. 

She reached out and planted the palm of her hand slap in the centre of the big fella’s chest. There wasn’t a hint of nerves there at all.

“Stop all this macho shit, will you! You can go now, Eric.”

Eric looked puzzled, he was obviously expecting a jolly to The Dam, but Susan nodded to the door and he turned to leave.

I decided to push the envelope a bit.

“Before you go, son,” I motioned to the ridiculous amount of luggage on my living room floor. “You’d better take all these cases with you, Eric.”

Susan was on me like a rash. Her personality changed again. In fact it seemed she had more of them than your average mental patient.

“That,” she pointed, “is my luggage!” Her hands moved to her hips and I saw Des raise a smile out of the corner of my eye.

“Mine!” she continued.

“It is nothing to do with you or anyone else, understand, Colletti?”

She was on a roll and pointed straight at me. Her Dutch accent more pronounced than ever. She was so close, I could feel her breath.

“We need to get this straight. Before I go anywhere with you and your little team of cronies, you need to remember that you work for my husband, Joel Davies. Remember him?” She cocked her head, “You do remember him, don’t you? The guy that pays you all? The scary guy with the big house? The guy that would have the three of you killed without a second thought?”

She glanced at each of us in turn.

Tanya was pouring a second brandy. She raised the balloon to the light and inspected the liquid colour before taking a measured sip. Des simply smiled broadly back in Susan’s direction.

He crossed his legs and motioned to each of us with an outstretched palm.

“As you can see, Susan, we’re all fuckin’ terrified.”

The confidence in her voice wavered slightly. Her pointed finger wagged up and down but it had lost some of its force. She made a vain attempt to regain her composure.

“In Joel’s absence, you work for me.”

She tailed off. There was an awkward silence.

I smiled.

Tanya moved with all the grace of a ballerina. Her left foot connected with Susan at about calf height. Simultaneously Tanya pushed Susan backward. Both Susan’s legs flew from under her and she landed on her arse on my Persian rug. It looked fairly painful, but I got the impression it was only Susan’s pride that was dented. In fact she fell quite well.

Big Eric was lumbering toward Tanya like an overweight heifer. Des and I exchanged a look that allowed the show to go on. He was within six feet of her, when Tanya drew an exquisite Derringer pistol from her jacket. She extended her arm. The engraved silver barrel met Eric’s forehead and stopped him dead.

This was a good start to the campaign, I was enjoying myself, and from the grin on Des’s face, so was he.     

Eric the Flabby stood rooted and sweating. Tanya raised one eyebrow that asked the obvious question. I broke the silence.

“Is that a .22, Tanya?”

“Uhh, uhh.”

“It will still make a hell of a noise.”

Tanya was having none of it.

“Turn up your hi-fi. No one will hear.”

Eric was shaking. Susan seemed remarkably calm.

I turned up the sounds and barely heard Eric cry out. Didn’t he like the White Stripes?

I had recently installed the system. It was the dog’s bollocks. So small you hardly noticed it. It didn’t interfere with the look of my living room. Yet it was so powerful, over a hundred watts RMS per channel, it would cover the gunshot with ease.

Then I remembered. I had just had my rug professionally cleaned. It was pale grey, with black and gold Persian panel, beautifully hand woven, and pure wool.

“Just a minute, doll.”

I walked to my utility room and gathered some plastic sheeting used by my decorators. I placed a single sheet about eight feet square behind Eric.

“Ask him to step back a little, Tanya. I’ve just paid an arm and a leg to get this rug cleaned.”

She nodded at the blubbering hulk. “Step back, fat boy.”

He complied. A tiny red circle had appeared on his forehead from the barrel of the Derringer.

I do like it when people take pride in their equipment. Tanya must have parted with a princely sum to obtain such a weapon. She pulled back the hammer on the deadly beauty. It made a
clickity click
sound and Eric’s bowel control failed him. Susan had seen enough.

She screamed at Tanya, “Stop this nonsense! For Christ sake, stop it now!”

The point had been made to the person who mattered. Tanya looked to me for the signal, and holstered as quickly as she drew. I grabbed Eric by the hair and pushed him toward the door.

“Fuck off before you stink out my house.”

I closed the door behind him and turned to Susan who, to my surprise, had regained her composure.

I selected one suitcase.

“Now, Missus Davies, I’ll try to remember that I work for your husband whilst you pack this single bag, no more. You have ten minutes.”

I pointed to a grinning Scot resting his bones on my sofa.

“You’ll be travelling with Des here. He has your ticket and your best interests at heart.” I looked her straight in the eye. “I’ve known your husband for a long time. I know exactly what kind of man he is and what kind of woman you are. We are here to do a job. I don’t give a shit if you want to be here or not. What I can tell you, is that the three of us would rather be without you. The best thing you can do is keep your mouth shut until the time comes for you to ID the man that stole from your husband. Fail in that department, honey, and nothing will protect you. The only person in charge here is me, understand? Now pack that bag.”

She didn’t answer. She simply stared straight at me, her blue eyes flashing contempt. She raised herself and started to arrange her luggage.

I was particularly taken with her Christian Dior shoes.  

I didn’t bother to check exactly what Susan had packed, even though I admit to a certain curiosity. Her taste in clothes was obvious for all to see and I’d bet it dented old Joel’s chequebook. What she paid for her underwear would have kept a family of four in clothes for a year.

Everyone was travelling under their own name except me. I can never relax if strangers know my identity. It’s a personal thing.

We had split into our relative couples. Tanya and I were leaving thirty minutes prior to Des and Susan and from different terminals. I left the Range Rover in covered parking and the two of us relaxed in the KLM first class lounge. We drew some attention, but I put that down to the fact that Tanya was not only beautiful but black. The sight of a mixed race couple still raised an eyebrow in the UK.