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“That’s what they all say. But I’d bet money you’re exactly who I was meant to catch.” A small crease forms between his brows as he thinks about my words. “Tell me, Calvin, was this trip to Mayfair a last-minute thing for you?” The small crease from a moment ago grows until it’s deep and will cause terrible wrinkles, if he lives long enough.
“No,” he snaps, but it’s not in the least convincing.
I step forward, snatching hold of his t-shirt and bringing my face close to his. “You’re a shit liar. How the hell did you ever manage to get initiated into the Acers when you’re a chicken shit who can’t even tell a small white lie convincingly?” This guy is starting to piss me off. We both know he’s lying, and we both know he’s not the shooter.
“Fuck you, man. I earned my place in the Acers like every other man. And I don’t know what you’re talking about with this shooting crap. Yeah, I heard the shots, but it weren’t me.”
Still holding him by his top and our faces just a couple of inches apart, I tell him, “Start fucking talking about why you were there then because I’m losing my damn patience with you.” I pull my blade free, the silver glints in the dim light as I hold it to his pretty little fucking face. Calvin’s eyes widen like fucking flying saucers as the cold metal rests against his cheek bone. “Patience is a virtue that I lack most days, but when some cunt shoots at the people I love… yeah, patience goes to fucking hell fast. Now talk or when you leave here, you’ll never talk again, but you will have a permanent smile on your face.”
“Fuck! This was not part of the deal,” Calvin mutters before looking me in the eye. “I ain’t an Acer. Some guy approached me and my friend in a bar and asked if we wanted to earn ourselves a couple hundred quid. We thought it was easy money, wear these bandannas, turn up at the addresses he gave us and wait. He said we’d know when it was time to leave. I don’t know nothing about a shooting. Only gun I’ve ever used is at the fucking arcade.”
I shove away from him, and he almost topples backwards from the force. My eyes lock with Bowser, who raises his brows knowingly.
“This guy, you know his name?” Calvin shakes his head. “Do you know what address your mate was sent to?”
He shakes his head again. “No, but it was somewhere over in Notting Hill.”
“Of course, it fucking is! What else do you know?” I question, trying to keep a lid on my anger, which is currently partying like it’s 1999 and someone pushed the countdown button. That’s where we live, which makes me wonder exactly who the target was, and did they have a shooter at each address too?
“Nothing, man. Look, I just wanted to make some quick cash. I don’t know shit about these Acers or who you are. I have a—”
Something wet hits my face as Calvin’s words cut off abruptly and it takes me a second to figure out why. His head is thrown back and his wide eyes stare at the ceiling, behind him on the white wall is a spray of red stretching out from the centre with tiny spidery tendrils that appear to be spreading wider and wider.
This time I hear the whoosh as another shot is fired, and Bowser and I drop to the floor just as plaster splinters on the wall behind me.
“B, you good?”
“Yeah, but we need to get the fuck out of here.”
“Go, I’m right behind you.” I see Bowser moving through the room, and quickly crawl over to Calvin. Keeping low, I search his pockets and find his phone and wallet. I tuck them both inside my jacket and follow Bowser.
As we creep out the back door, a car door slams and then an engine revs before pulling away. Moving quickly, I hop the back gate and stalk along the side of the house. Checking the road, I see it’s quiet again but there are several houses with lights on now thanks to the noise, and I’ve no doubt one of them is calling the old bill right at this minute.
Bowser parked in the drive, but as I move to the driver’s side, I notice the tyre has been slashed. He must notice the same time as me.
“Shit!” he curses. “Now what?”
I know why he’s pissed because it’s his own car, not one of the few we use for jobs. With no way to get it out of here before more coppers descend upon us, I pull my phone from my pocket and send a message to Mitch hoping he can intercept or at least keep Bowser’s name out of it.
“Now we need a new ride, that’s what.” I move off down the drive and away from the house with Bowser alongside me. “This has Rogers’ name all over it. Again. The fucker is always managing to make a move a step ahead of us, which made sense when Axel was feeding him info, but not now.”
When we are far enough away, I call an Uber, which arrives within five minutes and not fifteen minutes later we are strolling up my drive.
The front door opens as we reach the steps, and Zak stands there leaning casually against it as I stop, but Bowser continues on inside with a nod to Zak as he passes.
“Roxanne—”
“She’s fine,” he says, cutting me off. “She’s with the doctor as we speak. What happened, did you get him?” He steps back inside the house, and I follow, closing the door behind me.
“I sure as fuck got someone, but the shooter he wasn’t. Not that it matters because he’s dead.” I stomp through to the kitchen, barging in as four heads turn in my direction. My eyes are immediately drawn to her. She’s the only thing I notice in a room full of people.
Relief, though brief, flashes over her face. Mine is locked tight deep down and is never displayed openly in front of others. That shit is for behind closed doors and just between us. My eyes scan her from head to toe as best they can while she’s sitting. Satisfied she’s okay, I turn my attention to the others in the room.
Bowser is leaning against the breakfast bar, arms folded and shooting daggers at the cop sitting at the table while a doctor sutures Roxanne’s arm.
The cop, P.C Nathan Smith, a.k.a Smithy, sitting in my house is a surprise, but not a complication, I hope. I know Roxanne likes him, trusts him even, and there’s never been anything other than friendship and work between them, so I don’t want to have to put a bullet in his head. I’m interested to know how and why he’s here though.
“Mr Lawler,” the doctor greets with a nod. I’ve seen him before, but again, I’m wondering how he’s here. He finishes dressing her arm and begins packing his stuff away.
