Chain of Vengeance: Chapter One - Part Two

3

 

“I didn’t even know you had a brother,” said Jack.

There were less than thirty minutes now to the killing.

Lucy stretched, leaning into the bench, her ice cream way above her head and wrinkled her nose. “Didn’t I tell you?” She sounded evasive.

“Nope.”

Jack looked over the railings in front of them at the bridge and the valley below. They were next to its foundations. The river was narrow today, bordered by slick mud flats. It was tidal; joined a few miles downstream to the sprawling River Severn and beyond that to the sea. It looked slow and weary. The opposite bank was thick with trees and bushes, almost completely wild.

He couldn’t shake off the unpleasant feeling he’d picked up on the road below. It had dulled the shine of the day. Every time he looked at Lucy he felt it more. He’d never had a psychic episode; wasn’t entirely sure he believed in them, but… that was what this felt like.

He’d bought the ice cream; he was doing his best to ride the conversation; but he didn’t feel comfortable. He couldn’t relax. He looked at his watch, frowned, and looked back at the bridge.

“Jack?”

“Yes?” Lucy was looking at him expectantly. “Sorry. I was thinking about something else. Did you speak?”

“Uh huh.” She nodded, licking her ice cream. “About my brother.”

“Sam.”

“Yeah.”

“When’s he going to be here?”

“What time is it now?” she asked. Jack showed her his watch. “We ought to start drifting back. It should be soon.” Lucy shuffled her bum on the seat, bumping up against him. “Though there’s still plenty of time for you know what, you know how I like it, with you know who.” She giggled.

“Who?”

Lucy dabbed his nose with the wet end of her ice cream. “Guess.”

Jack wiped it off and sucked the end of his finger. “You’re on. I’ll race you back to the hotel.”

“Are you serious?”

Jack got up and ran to the top of the bank behind the bench, looked back and grinned. “You’re falling behind already.” 

Lucy got up slowly and only sauntered after him. “I don’t feel like racing.”

“Only because you know you’d lose,” said Jack, thinking just for a moment that she played all the games she wanted but only on her terms. He changed the subject quickly. “So tell me about your brother.”

“He’s one of a kind.”

“In a good way?”

Lucy smiled, flashed her eyes and didn’t respond directly. “He’s a few years older than me. We don’t see that much of one another. I write to him. He never writes back. He chucks them away unopened. It’s a nice little arrangement: sort of like a diary.”

They started to walk down the grassy slope toward their little hotel. It was on the bend of a narrow road facing the park, nothing more than a converted townhouse, but it was pleasant enough and well-located.

“Where does he live?” asked Jack.

“London.”

“And you never see him?”

She shrugged. “We used to be closer. He’s not the sort to keep in touch, that’s all. He never sees our parents. It gets a bit depressing at Christmas.”

“Why did he fall out with them?”

Lucy turned her face away, looking across the valley. When thirty seconds had passed, Jack realised she wasn’t intending to reply. Suddenly she looked back, eyes sparkling playfully. “Do you want to hear a secret about him?”

“Is it something he’d want me to know? Considering I’m about to meet him for the first time?”

Lucy stopped, chewing her lip, smiling mischievously at the same time. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

Jack looked blankly then shrugged his right shoulder. “If you want to tell me.”

Lucy came close. She slipped the fingers of her left hand into Jack’s belt and lightly touched his cheek with the other, standing on tiptoe. Jack bent down so she could reach his ear.

She told him the secret.

 

4

 

Sam knocked and waited.

Robson opened the door of the shabby terraced house: eyes dull, lips slack, fat-encased bald head mottled with uneven stubble. When he recognised his visitor he showed his teeth, gave the thick-wit human equivalent of an animal growl, then stepped back to allow access.

Sam entered. “How’s business?”

“Fairly shit.” Robson lumbered into the front room with Sam behind.

It wasn’t a conventional lounge or dining room: floor length curtains that had been closed long enough to accumulate crap on top of where they rested; fire-damaged corner desk in the centre of the room; two PCs, a printer, a digital camera and several heaps of clutter; wheelie bin, dragged in from outside, against the back wall: full. More rubbish scattered around it: pizza boxes, miscellaneous food wrappers, old computer magazines, etc. A second desk: this one with three angle-poise lamps; one with a large magnifying glass built in. Tweezers, glue, plastic film, scalpel; zero clutter.

Robson dumped himself into the leather chair behind the central desk. “You got the money?”

Sam nodded.

“Hand it over.”

“Let me see them first.”

Robson gave another of the sneers that showed his teeth, hesitated, then reached into the bottom desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. He slapped it on the desk.

Sam had met Robson as part of his work. When he found out what it was Robson did he dropped the investigation and covered it up.

He checked his watch. Twenty minutes distance to Lucy’s hotel. He considered how long he would need there and the travel time to the airport as he picked up the envelope and slipped the contents into his hand.

Three UK passports.

He opened the top one to its back page.

BARNADO. GEORGE ANTHONY.

The picture showed a dark haired man with a side parting, beard and glasses. He could only recognise himself because he knew who it was. It looked perfectly authentic. He allowed himself a brief smile then checked the other two, dropped the empty envelope back onto the desk and placed the passports in his inside left pocket. He withdrew a smaller envelope from his inside right and tossed it to Robson.

Robson grunted, ripped it open and tipped the cash out loose onto the desk, gathered it up laboriously into a neat pile and started counting. He grinned broadly while he was doing it.

“That should keep you in Coke and pizza for a day or two,” said Sam.

Robson licked his lips. “More like a couple of months.” He flashed his eyes. “Wanna tell me what you need three passports for?”

Sam walked to the door. “Not really.”