It Wasn't The Bullet (12) “Earlier today Detective Superintendent Norman Green was enjoying a well deserved rest from the pressures of his police work in London when he was viciously mugged by an, as of now, unidentified assailant. Superintendent Green declined to comment on the specifics of the attack preferring to shrug off the assault as ‘something that unfortunately happens every day to fine upstanding citizens. It is a shame that because I am an officer of the law the press have deemed this mugging news worthy’. The police are still searching for the attacker; he is described as six feet tall, short dark hair and of average build. Now back to Ron at the studio.” Charlie and Samantha both let out a low whistle, even Samantha realised that this was not the reaction of a rational police investigation. Charlie wound down the window a bit more and lit yet another cigarette, he coughed slightly and started to talk, “He’s playing some weird cat and mouse game. He has to be; you don’t just beat the shit out of a copper and waltz away without some kind of retribution. And that means he was on his own. He didn’t have a chance to call in the back up, he and at least one other person were here on their own time. He knows we are going to be listening to the radio, he almost certainly is aware that you have this car, and he could have given out a much more detailed description of me and you than he did.” “Perhaps he is trying to lull us into a false sense of security?” “No, he and I have been playing this game for about five years now. He and his crew had been trying to bust the four of us in a serious way. He knows the rules of the game. I don’t understand what he is trying to achieve.” Samantha motioned to Charlie and he passed his cigarette to Samantha, “Unless…he doesn’t want other police forces involved. We have to assume he, his team and their massive resources are trying to track us down. But they would have been ready. There was someone on the end of that walkie-talkie. They already know about the car, soon they will come across your auntie’s cottage. Green knows I have to have fall back positions so he will be going through his little book of ‘known associates’ turning up god knows what and generally getting under the skin of a lot of people. Samantha, we have to move very quickly. How long until we get to the house?” “It’s difficult to say, but no more than twenty minutes.” “Right, well that means I punched the fucker about an hour ago?” He turned to Samantha for conformation, she nodded. “ So taking into account that he must have been treated by an ambulance man, which would take maybe all of that hour, at the same time he would have been speaking to his team and relaying information. So they probably have been in high gear for maybe half an hour at the most. Swansea would have given them this car in a matter of seconds. But, it’s going to take them quite a bit of digging to unearth information on you. They will almost certainly go after my friends first because they have a focus. They may even think that I have kidnapped you. I think we have a good ten hours before we have to seriously run, that is if we can get to the cottage without being recognised. By that time I hope I have a plan.” They sat in mutual silence while Samantha navigated her way through the narrow lanes. A couple of times they had to stop to open farm gates or cross a more major road but the journey passed uneventfully until they were nearly at their destination. Samantha spoke, “Charlie, we’re on the Heathfield road now.” Charlie asked Samantha to pull over into a lay by when they were near the cottage. She drove for another five minutes and steered the car into an overgrown parking area. “How far away from the house are we?” “Five minutes by car. Maybe fifteen by way of the fields.” “Point out the route to me, I’d better go and have a look.” Samantha looked apprehensive; he smiled at her, “Just to be on the safe side.” She seemed to have calmed down a lot and was perhaps reflecting on the big picture. He was sure she had asked herself some difficult questions while they had been travelling. “Are you alright? It’s not too late to change your mind. I can always say that I abducted you. At least then the police would have to prove that you helped me. I’ll give you the money for a barrister, you’d get off for sure.” “Oh Charlie, I haven’t changed my mind about anything. I was just thinking that you might be better off on your own, but I’ll be dammed if I want to go to prison for just giving you a place to stay. I told you that I owe you, I don’t feel I’ve repaid that debt.” “I’m not going to lie to you. It will be a lot easier for me to get out of the country with you than without you. If you want to come with me, I won’t stop you. But I have to be sure you are there a hundred percent. Don’t lie to yourself. We could be both in police custody within the week. Think about that. Which way is the cottage?” Samantha pointed across the field and said, “Veer to the left at that copse. It’s on the other side of it.” She looked as if she wanted to say something else but stopped her self. “Stay here, I’ll be back as soon as I’m sure we’re safe.” He opened the door and got out, Samantha eased the car deeper into the overhanging branches of the trees. Charlie waved at her and then he hopped over the rickety wire fence and marched off along the route that she had indicated. Charlie moved as fast as he could through the fallow grass, his chest was aching and he could feel his right hand was swollen. He was moving in a slight crouch so he wouldn’t be visible from the road. As he made his way to the top of a slight rise in the uneven field the house came into view. He dropped down onto his stomach and looked for signs of life. It was tricky to tell if there was anything untoward in the peaceful copse. He would have to get closer to be sure. He moved as stealthily as the terrain would allow. As always Terry’s words of wisdom came flooding into his head and for a moment he was back in the wilds of the mountains of Wales. “Never rush anything, Charlie Always remember, you’ve got more time than them. If you have to lay out in a fuckin’ sopping wet field for a day to be sure there’s no fucker going to pop you, fucking do it. You only get killed once, and there ain’t many heroes that can tell you the mistake they made. But every dead hero made one, mark my fucking words.” Charlie carried on up and over the rise, keeping as close to the hedges as possible he made his way down to the edge. The field was bordered by another limp wire fence; it was just too tall to step over. Gingerly he stepped on the bottom strand and felt his weight strain the old posts. He clambered over and swiftly entered the unkempt copse. In his mind he was utterly certain that there would be no one staking out the house, but as in all things, it was better to be safe than sorry. He walked in a half crouch, slowly and gently he placed his feet over the twigs and leaves so as to balance his weight and eliminate a sharp pop or crack. In five minutes he was in a position to see the west side of the house. He stayed motionless, his breathing steady and unhurried. Charlie felt in control, he was back with Terry. The two of them checking out a drop for the first time. The hours they had spent watching, listening and waiting, and sincerely hoping that they would discover nothing. Three or four times their prudence had paid off in a big way, and countless times saved the four of them from wasted effort. He could almost sense Terry on the other side of the rounded grove, he too, still and alert, watching for the slightest hint of a shadow that shouldn’t be or waiting for the inexplicable sensation that something was not quite right. A tidal wave of sadness enveloped Charlie making his body feel as it was encased in lead. He fought back at his memories and commanded his conscious mind to concentrate. After a while, the linear aspect of time long since gone, he moved forward. Dusk was creeping up through the shadows of the trees, and it would not be long before it was dark. He envisaged Samantha sitting nervously in the small car watching the sun begin to move toward another hemisphere and feeling the first pangs of fear gently tap on the inside of her stomach. Charlie trotted over the loose gravel and stopped at the sidewall of the building. Instinctively he crossed his hand over his chest to reach for his gun and for a second he was surprised again it wasn’t there. Carefully he edged his way to the front corner and peered around. The first look was quick and sudden; the next was precise and calculated. He examined the shingle at the front of the house; he could detect no extraneous tyre marks or footprints. He decided that to be completely positive there were no watchers he would have to move up the laneway. His fitness after the shooting was now in question, he wondered if he could jog all the way to the road and then back to Samantha without passing out or becoming a slobbering mess gasping for oxygen. It would be easier just to turn round and make his way back across the fields, but in his heart he knew he had to be sure that the area was all perfectly secure. He was standing by the back door, and stooping down he retrieved the key that Samantha had placed under the mat. Once inside he gave the place a brief glance to see if anything was out of place, but he could not really tell. Once in the kitchen he knelt down in front of the sink and reached in behind the rags and bucket. His right hand feeling the soft and comforting leather he pulled out his gun and took off his jacket. Wriggling into the shoulder holster he felt like he was donning a magic cloak. He picked up his gun from the draining board and went through a quick procedure. He released the magazine from the butt and made certain that the bullets were laying flat and even by pushing his thumb gently down on the top cartridge, pulling back the slide he ejected the chambered round and peered down the barrel. Everything was in order and Charlie reassembled the weapon and placed it into the holster. The gun, now snugly resting under his left armpit, gave Charlie a strange sense of invulnerability. He understood that it was a false concept, but he didn’t really care. He exited by the front door and began to jog up the winding laneway that led to the road. The light was fading and he had to hurry. His heart was pounding and his breath short as he reached the top of path. The wound in his body was making it quite clear to him that he was still injured and was in no shape to get involved in any protracted physical incident. He halted at the brow of the hill and collected his wits about him. He once again ducked into the trees that lined both sides of the lane and carefully approached the main road. Peering through the foliage that bordered the road he studied the immediate areas to the left and right. He could make out one parked car tilted at a crazy angle on the grassy verge. A local’s car he decided. There was nothing else around and he turned and started to run back down the lane. By the time he got back to Samantha he could hardly catch his breath as he collapsed on the bonnet of the mini. Samantha was already out of the vehicle by the time he arrived and was asking him what the matter was. Charlie held up his hands while pulling in lungfuls of air, it was a couple of minutes before he could speak coherently. When he could stand without fear of his legs giving way, he grabbed onto Samantha shoulder. Whispering in her ear, he said “Everything is fine, sorry I was so long.” She pushed her arms underneath his and squeezed back. Charlie felt her bicep press on the gun; she looked up into his face, “I’m glad you’re ok. We had better get going.” She pulled away and got back into the car. Charlie followed and they pulled out of the parking space and onto the Heathfield road. The short ride was made in an uneasy silence. Charlie was astute enough to understand that there was a problem between them and he chose to remain quiet until she wanted to speak. They pulled into the drive at the cottage and she stopped the car by the back door. “Do you still have the key, or did you put it back under the mat?” She phrased the question with no emotion; it was difficult to gauge her mood. Charlie was not sure if she was angry, sacred or completely nonplussed. The adrenalin had now dissipated, and he perceived that she just wanted to get out of the car and be alone with her thoughts. “Here,” he said while digging the key from his pocket. He held it out to her; she took it and left the vehicle. Samantha walked out of sight and around to the back of the house. Charlie was conflicted. He couldn’t be dealing with these mood swings in his present situation, but he also had some empathy of how Samantha must be feeling. Deep down he knew he should just leave right now and leave her to her fate. Take the car and get out of the country and he would probably never see her again, unless he got caught of course. On the flip side, she had risked her entire life to help him to repay what she perceived, rightly or wrongly, to be a debt of honour. Terry had instilled in him that loyalty was a major part of life. He reiterated to himself that it would be easier to escape with her than without her. He sat, somewhat bewildered, and watched the lights turn on one by one. First the kitchen,then the living room and finally the stairs. He guessed that the bathroom light was next but that was obscured from his view. He pulled a cigarette from the crumpled packet in his hand, sighed and made his way to the house. He sat down heavily onto the sofa and listened to the water falling from the shower. He sighed audibly and debated whether to get himself a beer from the fridge. Closing his eyes, he tried to shut out all the random thoughts chasing each other in his mind. Charlie did not understand the situation as a whole. There was something wrong with the way it was playing out. Green, Clay, Justin, their actions were not making sense. He was positive that somewhere along the line he had misconstrued a piece of data, but he could not think clearly enough. Samantha kept on crashing in on his ruminations. He was caught, all jumbled up. Feelings he hadn’t experienced in years were surfacing and most of them conflicted with what he knew was right for his own survival. He jumped up in pain as the Marlboro burnt his fingers. In his haste to remove the cigarette, he flicked it onto the carpet and then went scrambling down on all fours to stop prevent the errant ember from scorching the old wool. This was how Samantha found him. She had a towel wrapped around her midsection and hair was bundled on top of her head. Charlie felt her presence there and looked up from his prone position. “I think I saved a burn hole, but my fingers might need some treatment nurse.” She smiled at him and sat down on the couch. He picked himself up and sat next to her. She smelled fresh and clean, and he wanted to fall into her arms hide there until tomorrow. He moved his arm to put it behind her shoulders but Samantha thwarted that gesture by leaning away to pick up Charlie’s cigarettes and lighting one for herself. “Charlie I’m scared. I know in my heart that I can’t just run away and leave you to your own devices. I’m sorry if I overreacted to the feel of your gun. I guess I’m still in that grey sea where neither shore is clear enough to distinguish which is the safest side.” “Samantha, one day I will try and explain everything that has made me... me. But for now you are going to have to trust me. I will not leave you. In fact, I would make sure I was caught before you. Today I told you to run because they would have chased me and not you. Something has happened to me over the last weeks, maybe it’s got something to do with the fact I should have been dead. Maybe somewhere my subconscious has reorganised my priorities in life. I don’t know. I do know that you helped me when you shouldn’t have but I also know why you did . All my plans are geared to getting us both away. My instincts tell me I should be looking after me, my mind is telling me different.” Samantha looked at him carefully, her eyes flicked back and forth, darting between his eyes and face. She uncrossed her arms and fidgeted with bath towel, picking at the loose strands of wool. She had been taking little sparrow like drags on her cigarette and now she inhaled deeply and after exhaling she said, “I want to believe you. In my heart too, I do believe you. But we are now in a situation where all I can do is trust you. I’ve never been in a position like this, I don’t know how I should feel.” She paused and searched his face again, Charlie was aware that his features were set and emotionless. “I look at you now and the only comfort I feel is from your eyes, and this I only recognise because I’ve held you when you’ve been inside me. Your face is a mask, like you’ve hidden yourself for so long you can’t remember how to portray yourself.” Charlie could not disagree with anything she had said. He was in turmoil, a jumble of words rushed into his mouth but he could not find the handle to let them out. He wanted to explain the pain and confusion but somewhere a door was firmly closed, and not a shred of light or sound could escape. “I will not leave you; you have to give me time Samantha. You have to give me your trust like I am trying to give you mine. If you want to stay for the ride, the only way we will survive is trust. We are running out of time here.” He inwardly winced and wondered, for a second, if she was going to break out laughing. She stood up and kissed his forehead, took a final pull on her cigarette and extinguished it in the ashtray. She stood over him, “Ok Charlie. In for a penny. I think we should maybe slow down.” She stopped herself, “I think I should slow down. I know that …” Samantha voice trailed off and Charlie interrupted, “It’s ok with me. What is will be. Let’s get ready to leave.” He reached up and squeezed her hand, she pressed back and turned for the stairs. “What shall I wear?” “Just don’t wear what you were wearing this afternoon.” “Well, duh!” was the reply as she padded up the staircase. Charlie stretched over to grab the telephone while shaking his head at the enigma of the woman who he had just vowed to protect and keep from harm. He now had to gamble; the only way to get at his hidden treasure was to give instructions to a man who was perpetually stoned and half deaf. Before Charlie had met Justin for the second and life altering time he had started a very small business setting up equipment for bands who were on the verge of making money or who had record company backing. He was very adept at the whole thing, from guitars to drums, from amplifiers to the sound mix. He had three companies who used him, and his battered Ford Transit van, to make the wannabe rock stars feel like they were special before deciding whether to give them a contract or consign them to the never-ending pub circuit. Even though Charlie was starting to make a whole lot of money with the profits from the drug dealing, he always kept up his little company, going so far as to employ two old roadies to run it for him when he was unable to help. They were very good at their jobs, there wasn’t an amplifier they couldn’t fix or a shitty northern club they hadn’t played in. Eventually Charlie gave up working with them and became a kind of benefactor. Paying for new equipment when they needed it and upgrading the van so it would go more than fifty miles without needing to be repaired. Soon ‘Roge’ and ‘Tulip’ were making real money and Charlie had to get them an accountant, one of Justin’s choosing. The accountant pointed out that because a lot of the work was cash who would really be able to tell where the money came from. Charlie started laundering money through his own company after making Roge and Tulip directors of the company. For three years Charlie kept half an eye on what was going on but for the most part he just let the two of them get on with it, until he got a phone call from a yuppie named Phil. Charlie remembered that evening and grinned to himself, he allowed himself to recall it while he was waiting for Roge to return his page. It was the Thatcher ‘everybody gets rich’ era in Great Britain, all the brainless graduates from no name private schools were working in the banking centres earning vast sums of money in return for long hours and being total pricks to the common man. Consequently a lot of these people drifted into alcohol and drug addiction in an ill-advised attempt to stave off the stresses of their employment. The yuppie drug of choice in the early eighties was cocaine and lots of it. Charlie had stopped selling in grams and ounces preferring to let others take the risk of day-to-day dealing while he and Terry moved around the kilos. However, when they dropped of the merchandise to the cutters, they always took a cupful of eighty-eight themselves for personal use and to spread amongst friends at parties. A few people had Charlie’s private beeper number and from time to time they called him to see if he had any powder. One night his pager went off and he called the number back to be greeted by Phil’s annoying whiney voice asking him if he could pop over to his place as the dinner party had run out of party favours. Charlie thought why not, he would sell him a handful of coke and make five hundred pounds for nothing. When he arrived at the Sloan Street neighbourhood house on St Luke’s Street, he parked his car in the company of the Porches and BMW’s that littered the side road. He walked past the shiny black painted wrought iron railings that ran in front of all buildings on this crowded lane until he found the dwelling he was looking for. He rang the doorbell and could plainly make out the sounds of Dire Straits as Mark Knopflers bad Dylan impersonation trickled through the solid oak door. It swung open and Phil stood in front of him, his eyes as big as saucers magnified by his horn rimmed glasses. He seemed a bit nervous and Charlie was pleased, Terry would be calling him a ‘flash cunt’ if he was there. “Hey Phil, you got a beer in the fridge?” “Of course Charlie, come on in.” He felt his feet sink into the plush carpet as he followed his host down the hallway. They passed the dining room where Charlie glimpsed a table full of what appeared to be empty wine bottles and the wreckage of a meal. They reached the kitchen and Phil produced a cold bottle of beer from the refrigerator. It was a beer that seemed to have been made in Norway and Charlie guessed it was intended as a conversation piece for his friends so they could say how much they spent on exotic drinks. He took a gulp from the bottle and found the taste quite palatable, he asked if he could smoke, “Yes, of course, I’ll get an ashtray.” He walked over to one of the custom-made kitchen units, pulled on a hidden handle and a drawer opened. He reached in and produced an ashtray. “So have you got some of your wonderfully excellent Bolivian marching powder. It’s so hip, all my friends are jealous that I have such a good contact.” “You haven’t told anyone where you get it, have you Phil?” “No, no I would never be as boorish as that Charlie. It’s ok no one even knows that you’re here to sell me the stuff.”
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