Storymania - It Wasn't The Bullet by Iain Young

It Wasn't The Bullet (28)
Iain Young

Green looked like he was about to speak, the gun lazily pointed in his direction once again. All of a sudden Justin began to talk, the dam had broken and his words came out in a hysterical torrent,
“It wasn’t my fault! None of this was meant to happen! I loved Terry, I love you, Charlie. Listen, it wasn’t my fault!” Charlie looked back at him unimpressed. The intangible feelings still gripped him like trying to place an unfamiliar yet comforting aroma, the power still pulsated in his veins, he let his senses continue to process the information and tuned back into the whining of Justin.
“Green busted us with a kilo of H. He said we had to give you both up or he’d send us to prison for twenty years. I can’t do fuckin’ stir, Charlie! It wouldn’t be ten seconds before my arsehole was as big as a coke can. Me and Mikey were gonna come an’ talk to you about it all and then that fuckin’ cunt Clay get’s involved.”
Charlie’s mind blew a fuse, Clay? What the fuck?
“He said that you an’ Terry were into some fuckin’ big Columbian deal. He wanted a piece of it. Him an’ this cunt. They’re fuckin’ bent as a three bob note. Clay said if we didn’t find out, we would be on the wrong end of a bust where we wouldn’t come out alive. I was scared shitless an’ so was Mikey.” He looked back down at his dying friend and tears started to climb down his pale cheeks.
“So, we,uh, decided to go speak to you both an’ try n’ see if we could get yous to give up the connection. Oh fuckin’ Mikey. He got hold of this stuff called angel dust. He said his mate said it would jazz ‘im up. Well, fuck, he started going really weird when we got to T’s place and suddenly he just starts fuckin’ battering Terry. I couldn’t fucking talk to him or nuthin. He went fuckin’ mad. Next thing I know he’s got him tied up and he keeps asking all these questions that make no sense. Then he starts screaming and runs off. I tried to help T but he was already dead. I tried Charlie, I really did.”
The room filled with swirling patterns, Charlie shook his head to clear his mind. His brain was red hot, his thoughts like lava. He stood over Mikey and said,
“Open your fucking eyes.” Whether he had passed out and didn’t hear Justin’s litany or whether he just didn’t care, Charlie would never know. Mikey open his eyes, and Charlie shot him once through the forehead. Seven. Fresh blood now seeped into the carpet and settled on top of the old. Charlie spat onto the torso of the body and gave his attention back to Justin.
“OK, that’s dealt with. What happened after that?” Green shifted in his seat, his hands were most likely numb by now. Something was still bothering Charlie about Green, he wasn’t acting the way he should. Justin was gulping for air, sobbing and trying to talk at the same instant. Charlie knew what he was asking for. He squatted once again, and cut the small innocuous line in half.
“You can have this, then when you’ve told me the rest, you can have the rest.”
Charlie jerked the Browning up and down indicating to Justin that he could stand. Justin freed his hands and shook them trying desperately to get the blood circulating so he could manipulate the straw. He flexed his fingers and knelt down level with the table top and hoovered up the line that Charlie had left for him. He sat back in the sofa and waited for his rush.
“I always thought you were a good copper. It was fun playing against you.” Charlie was gazing in Greens direction and didn’t expect any reply, in fact he was little angry at himself for even saying anything. His mind was still regrouping from the past minutes and the unguarded sentence had slipped out.
“I meant what I said in the hospital. You’re the last of a breed, Charlie. You and Terry. Never cared much for these two pricks,” Green inclined his head toward Mikey’s body and Justin’s slumping posture, “ but you and Terry. You were alright. I’m a walking fucking cliché. I got fed up with seeing you cunts live high on the hog, and all I had to look forward to was, ‘Thanks very much, here’s your crummy pension, now fuck off’. I wanted a bit of the moolah, Charlie. It’s so fucking easy isn’t it. I’m a fucking cop. Bust the dealers, take the money, the only thing the Met cares about is the fucking arrest. Who are they going to believe? A slimy little coke dealer or a detective with twenty years on the force?” He paused, he seemed to be talking to Mikey whose eyes where pointed toward the white stucco ceiling like a camera that had taken its last photograph. Green suddenly directed his words to Charlie directly; the self-pity had left his voice,
“I was doing fine until Clay. He was fucking greedy. Talked me into this mess. Fuck. But I tell you Charlie, I’m ahead of you on this one.” Charlie was taken by surprise again. He held Green’s gaze willing himself not to ask why, as soon as that thought had completed it’s journey, Justin let out what could only be described as a wail. Charlie snapped his head round to look at Justin, his eyes were as wide as his pupils contracted.
“No, nooo! Please Green, please.” Green laughed, but it came out as more of a guffaw.
“Oh yes, Justin. I’m going to tell him. None of this would have happened if it wasn’t for you. You took an oath, and if you’d have kept it we would both be alive tomorrow.”
Justin reached his arms out toward Green and grasped the policeman’s neck with both hands. Green, his hands numbly stuck in his pockets, was unable to deflect the halfhearted attack. Charlie leant over the table and grabbed a handful of Justin’s hair and tossed him back onto his side of the couch.
“Enough!” he barked, and Justin put his head down and returned to hugging himself and whimpering. Charlie looked back at the detective, and inclined his head portraying an unspoken, ‘Well?’
“It’s all fucking Clay really, Charlie. That fuck!” he paused in a moment of self reflection and then continued, “Justin was an Metropolitan Police experiment.” Charlie let out a gasp of genuine astonishment. The sense of the words refused to parlay any information into Charlie’s mind. He was scrambling for some branch of reason to hang onto, he could see the satisfied smirk on Green’s lips, enjoying the moment.
“Yes Charlie, he’s a fuckin’ copper.”
Charlie exploded, he kicked over the coffee table, the glass shattered into spider webbed pieces as the black metal frame rammed into the unprotected shins of the two men, they both bellowed with the pain of the impact. The silencer of the gun was pressing against Greens forehead even before the first realisation of pain had subsided.
“Are you lying to me?” Charlie was fighting with the tension in his finger. He knew it was almost at the point of release. The hammer was raised, a flash of uncontrolled adrenalin and there would be no reply to his question. Greens eyes were locked with his. Charlie could see no deceit in them. He carefully let out his breath, and with that, the pressure in his finger. He stood back, and peered at Greens face, and then across to Justin. He felt disgust creep into his features as he saw that Justin was searching for the plastic wrap of heroin that was now camouflaged amongst the broken glass.
“Jesus Christ.” Charlie spat out loud to no one in particular. He took one more step back and returned his gaze to the policeman.
“Ok, tell me.” Green was about to respond when there was a scuffling sound from the direction of the kitchen. The Browning was up and focused on the doorway as a figure tumbled through it, at the same instant as Charlie’s over loaded brain was assessing the millisecond between kill or wait, the familiar tones of Simon’s voice penetrated the process,
“Charles!” the sound of his name pulled him back, “I think it best if you delay shooting this gentleman until he has a chance to explain himself. He has, after all, been waiting patiently at my behest.” Simon stood in the entrance way with a wry grin on his face, Charlie could not help but smile back.
“I feel he was rather unprepared for my appearance in the kitchen, and since then we have both been listening to your conversation with great interest. I rather thought that this moment would be the most appropriate for his contribution to the subject at hand.” It was then the figure on the carpet lifted his head from the prone position he had been in and Charlie looked into the eyes of one Detective Inspector Andrew ‘Cassius’ Clay.
Suddenly Charlie couldn’t think. The bare wires sputtered and sparked filling his head with random images lit by the stroboscopic flashes, Hamilton’s head exploding, a smile from Justin in Berlin, Samantha eyes wide and disbelieving, Terry waving his tea mug to make a long forgotten point, Annie’s red dress bathed in a twilight sun, the oil dark waves in the English Channel, the toll on his mind was finally paid by his consciousness. He couldn’t focus, his body felt leaden and vulnerable. It was as if his internal operating system had just crashed and was rebooting, he could see the faces in front of him, but it felt like there was he was watching the room on a remote monitor.
Charlie could not process the thought, Justin not just an informant, a grass, a snitch but a policeman, a fully paid up member of British law enforcement. The ongoing haphazard flashes illuminated more random thoughts. Why did he so fully believe what he had just been told? His friend of nearly ten years was not Justin but some other entity entirely. He fought for some anchor to fasten his accelerating brain waves to. Then he saw it, for a split second at first, then Terry’s visage became clear as the pulsing carbon coloured light slowed until all the other deafening portraits of his past faded into the swirling fog and left him alone with his friend, brother and mentor. Terry was trying to speak but Charlie could not hear him. The mist was crawling toward him, lapping at his feet. He could see him fighting to be heard, he could see his lips move and as the ether swallowed him up he understood. Terry wanted to know why.
Charlie sensed the power returning to him, he looked up expecting to see a trio of puzzled faces staring at him. It was not so, the whole incident in his mind could have only have taken milliseconds, because it seemed to him that time had stood still and everyone was exactly where he had left them.
“One of you three is going to explain this whole mess to me. I need to understand why.” Charlie said this in such a way, with so much malice, there was absolutely no uncertainty as to the outcome of the following conversation.
“I,” Simon paused as he stared at each of the men in turn, “would also very much like to comprehend this state of affairs. I,” he paused again. Charlie could feel the rage emanate from Simon like the vibration of a transport truck idling in the early morning. “Want to know why my comrade in arms is dead. I want to know why the IRA had a contract out on Charles.”
Without any warning whatsoever he shot Green through the forehead. A lot of things were happening twice today, the flippant notion was gone before Charlie could swat it away. The room was bathed in a deathly calm. Justin was immobile, frozen in place. Clay, still prone on the carpet, was fixated on Green’s bloody face.
“Now, that brings the odds of a successful conclusion to this little tête-à-tête to fifty-fifty. One of you will walk away. I have no particular preference as to whom. One of you worthless individuals is going to explicate the series of events that led to this very moment in time. That person is going to walk away from here and live a full and active life unless, of course, our path cross once again.”
He kicked Clay in the ribs and motioned him to move next to the trembling Justin. Clay managed to pull his gaze away from the mangled face of Green and crawled painfully over to the right of the sofa. The broken glass crunched under his weight, but he seemed not notice the cuts it was causing on his hands and knees. His progress to Justin was temporarily halted by Mikey’s inert form, Charlie realised he was taking a perverse pleasure in Clay’s impossible situation. Clay finally navigated his way round the body and knelt down on the carpet next to Justin. Charlie glanced over at Simon, his face was impassive but there was no mistaking the intent in his eyes. Simon turned and walked toward Charlie, when he was one pace away, he halted and tilting his head slightly to one side, he spoke very softly, the words came out forcefully and with a strange tenderness,
“So now you are going to find out. I imagine most of what is to come will be unsavoury to say the least. We have to extract all the details of this operation. We,” his eyes narrowed and the lines around his eyes showed the stress of a thousand battles, “need the intelligence that those two despicable people have. Control yourself Charles. Please.” Charlie breathed in deeply, he accepted in an instant that this was Simon’s expertise and willingly nodded his consent.

Chapter Fifteen
Fox in the henhouse

Simon turned and faced back into the room. Clay’s face was ashen and his eyes closed. It appeared by the movement of his lips, that he was making a silent prayer. Charlie wondered if Clay was a Catholic, it didn’t mean anything to him, but the question popped into his mind anyway. He suddenly occurred to him that he had not had a cigarette since he was in the car. He fished out his crumpled pack of Marlboros and lit one. The click and snap of his Zippo echoed in the room, it was so unexpectedly loud that Charlie flinched.
“What a splendid idea Charles!” Simon was standing still, his legs slightly apart and his weapon held loosely by his side in his right hand. He reached out to the cigarette packet that Charlie had proffered and took one. Simon lit the Marlbough with his own lighter, and the gleaming red tip told Charlie that he had taken a deep drag, Simon blew out a long stream of gunmetal coloured smoke and as it dissipated in the atmosphere he said,
“Well? Which of you is it going to be?”
Justin coughed, clearing his throat.
“I’d like a cigarette, please.” He said quietly.
Simon, once again, tilted his head and studied the man. Nearly a minute passed until Simon reached back into his pocket ad tossed Justin his pack. Justin missed the catch and the cigarettes bounced of Mikey’s leg and landed amidst the shards of glass. He reached down slowly and retrieved them and the blue plastic Bic lighter that had been on the table. His hands shivered as he lit the smoke. He also inhaled deeply, then with a sigh more descriptive than a hundred adjectives; he lifted his head up and began to talk.
“If I’m going to die Charlie, you’re gonna have to fuckin listen. I haven’t told the truth for over ten fucking years. Imagine that Charlie, not even being able to even think the truth in case you fuck up and end up right fuckin’ here. I’m a good fucking copper, I didn’t fuck it up, he did,” Justin jabbed his smoke in Clay’s direction, “Fuckin’ greedy cunt. You know, my old Mum was as pleased as Punch when I passed out in Hendon Police College. Top of my fucking class, wasn’t I Clay? Great potential, consider for CID on the fast track, unusually perceptive and cunning, that’s what my file said. I know, I fucking read it. I grew up in East Ham where even the fuckin’ milkman was a villain. I played hooky from school with some of the biggest fuckin’ blaggers in the Smoke today. Clay and his little band of heroes knew that though, didn’t yer Clay? They were collecting files for their fucking little project.” He leant down and picked up the little bag of heroin that he must have suddenly spied out. Simon and Charlie did nothing while he took a pinch of the powder between his thumb and forefinger and sniffed it like a dose of snuff. He sniffed loudly and let out a satisfied ‘mmmh’.
“That fuckin’ stuff keeps me sane. All these things in my head, all the time. I don’t really remember myself anymore Charlie. I can’t remember who I am. Ha! That’s pretty fuckin’ sad. Two weeks after I was sworn in to uphold the laws of this country I was ordered to report to this office building. I end up sitting opposite this shadowy fucking copper in an expensive suit telling me I’ve been chosen for a special undercover project, first of it’s kind, be a hero, blah fuckin blah. Oh, I fuckin’ believed it. All the fuckin way! At first it was a buzz, Clay would set me up with the drugs, I’d sell them. In the beginning I’d have to give all the money I made back to him. Until after a couple of years, just after I met you actually Charlie, I found out he’d been fucking ripping off the dealers he busted and selling their drugs through me!
What an ignorant cunt you are Clay! You never even thought that the rumours wouldn’t start about the bent fuckin’ copper. After I threatened to arrest him...we split the money.” Charlie’s face must have betrayed the question he wanted to ask because Justin looked back at him and smiled. He saw that the opiate was flooding Justin’s system, his body was relaxing and his pupils were pinning down again. Charlie was watching Justin’s persona change right before him; it was as if the real man behind the actor was emerging little by little. His posture was morphing from a terrified junkie into a defiant highly skilled undercover policeman.
“It was exciting being a big shot dealer. I was making money hand over fist and putting bad guys away too! Then I lost my fucking mind. I started to believe I was Justin. The Yanks call it ‘going off the reservation’. I started setting up my own deals. Clay couldn’t do fuck all about it, especially as I was giving him a cut and on top of that he was telling me what the Sweeny were up to. Then when we all teamed up together, life was fucking perfect. I was the proverbial fox in the fuckin’ henhouse. Best of both worlds. Then Clay got a report that there had been a break in at the records office of Hendon.” Justin lit another cigarette off the last ember of the first one and dropped the butt onto the floor. He causally ground it into the carpet with his shoe. Leaning forward, forearms now resting on his thighs, he looked up at Charlie and Simon,
“I’m thinking this is the bit you really want to hear”
Both men let the question linger in the void between them. Justin had a sly smile on his lips, apart from the tense drags on the tobacco, he remained still, staring back at his inquisitors. Clay’s uneven breathing became the sonic focal point of the room. Charlie knew this was Justin’s play, he was going to try an end run around Simon’s plan. He was still astounded that Justin was not Justin. How could a man, person for that matter, live as completely as Justin had as an alter ego? It was becoming clear that he was not a man to be trifled with, he was in control of himself. Right up to the pathetic pleading for a fix, he was playing the part of Justin. Astounding, he repeated to himself.

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