Toby’s legs trembled on the stairs, ready to give way any second. It was not only because the box was heavy, it was also the thought that he should have been the person lying in the box and being carried down the steps. It made his insides shudder to the point he wanted to throw up.
Brock led the way and appeared composed as he carried his end.
“Keep the peak of your hat down when we get to the lobby and out on the street. Do not look up.”
On reaching the bottom Toby aimed his face at the floor and followed Brock through the door leading to the entrance.
“Wrong delivery?” The concierge shouted as they passed through the lobby.
Toby kept his head low.
“Wasted trip,” Brock said.
Following Brock’s feet through the glass doors and along the pavement, they came to the rear of a van. After opening up Brock placed his end inside then pushed the rest of it in and slammed the doors shut. He turned to Toby.
“Can you drive?”
Toby wasn’t thinking, his mind displayed images of his own body inside that box.
“Drive?”
“Yes.” Brock held the keys up to him. “Can you drive the van?”
Can I drive? Toby remembered passing his test. He nodded.
“You take the driver’s seat. I’ll tell you where to go.”
Toby took the keys and walked to the driver’s door, still not clear on what was happening. After getting behind the wheel, he watched as Brock climbed into the passenger side and fumbled in his jacket. He pulled out a gun which he clutched in both hands and held low between his legs.
Toby put the key in the ignition with trembling hands but managed to turn the engine.
“Where to?” he asked, gazing at the gear stick.
“Drive to Barbican tube station. Go via Liverpool Street.”
Toby shifted the gear to first, and put his foot on the gas. The van lurched but didn’t go. Brock released the hand break and the van shot forward, almost hitting the car parked in front.
“Are you sure you can drive?” Brock asked.
“Yeah, it’s coming back,” he said and fixed his mind on what he needed to do.
After pulling out, smoothly this time, he eased along with the light morning traffic and focused on the road. He found it easier as the seconds went by, and having something to concentrate on took his mind away from what had happened, and the fact they had a dead body in the back.
He made it to Liverpool Street, and after getting around the taxis driving in and out of the station entrance, he followed the road as it curved around the shops and office blocks.
Brock kept an eager watch from his side of the van; Toby could see his eyes darting to his side mirror every two seconds.
Turning onto the road of Barbican tube station, Brock told him to take a quick right into what looked like an underground parking lot.
“Take it slow,” Brock muttered as he eagle eyed through the windscreen. “We have to leave the van here.”
Toby nodded, his heart beating faster now the drive was over. He went slowly down the ramp and daylight disappeared. His eyes took a second to adjust.
Many cars. A few empty spaces.
“Where do I park?” he asked.
Brock peered through the windows. Seeming to spot what he was searching for, he pointed to the nearest empty space.
“Pull in there.”
Toby pulled in and hit the break. A faint swell of satisfaction hit when he managed to stop the van before it met the wall. But it wasn’t long before his stomach knotted up again.
Brock handed Toby a set of car keys.
“There’s a blue Ford parked three spaces along on the opposite side,” he said quietly. “When we leave the van I want you to go straight to it and get in the passenger side, put the key in the ignition and wait for me.”
Toby took the keys and nodded.
“Keep your face down and don’t take off the hat.”
“Are we being watched?”
“There are two men waiting to collect the body,” Brock said. “I’ll speak with them; you don’t even look at them.”
Toby clutched the keys in his fingers and held them ready for use.
“Remember, it’s a dark blue Ford. Just get in and wait. I’ll be one minute with these guys.”
Toby swallowed with a dry throat as Brock leaned across and took the van’s keys from the ignition.
After getting out, Toby quickly glanced along the rows of cars and spotted a dark blue Ford. He waited a second until Brock had moved from his side of the van before stepping into the open driveway. Keeping his eyes on the dull, grey tarmac, he headed in the direction of the Ford. Footsteps and low voices echoed from somewhere. He didn’t look up.
It took ten paces to reach the blue Ford and the key slotted in smoothly. After getting in he shoved the key into the ignition and waited.
The idea that all of this was happening remained elusive, and as he gazed at the empty cars around him he kept thinking that a grinning man would appear in a bright suit carrying a microphone, telling him he’d been had. Even the air inside the car didn’t seem real; it felt thicker and made a hollow noise in his ears.
He knew Brock didn’t want him looking at the men he was to meet, but there was an irresistible pull at the back of his head telling him to turn, just for a split second.
Twisting his neck slightly, he moved his eyes to the furthest point they’d go. He didn’t see anyone.
They’ve taken Brock into the van!
Perhaps the two men knew what Toby looked like, and on finding someone other than him in the box, would know Brock had fucked up. Or worse, maybe they would recognize the man in the box and see Brock had killed one of their own.
The longer he looked, the more he built a picture of the two men with Brock in their grip, perhaps knocking him out and dragging him away to see the boss. Sweat peeled from his hairline and the underside of his arms warmed the tight fitting shirt that had been worn by the dead man. His heart jumped several beats when the driver’s door opened.
Brock slammed it, his eyes like two steel bearings. After starting the engine, he stared in the direction of the van.
Toby turned to see two men coming around that van as Brock twisted the car out of its space.
As the car made it onto the driveway, Brock shifted gear and slammed forward. Toby was knocked back in his seat as Brock sped up the exit ramp; he was thrown to the side as the car spun onto the road.
“What’s happening?” Toby grabbed at the seat belt.
“We’re getting away,” Brock said.
He didn’t offer any more information, but Brock’s eyes kept darting from the road to the rearview mirror every second. Glancing back, Toby saw a white Saab coming up the ramp.
Brock slammed the breaks and twisted the steering wheel, sending the Ford into a side street. Old buildings and the odd shop darted by before Brock spun into another street.
Heading west, in the direction of Euston station, Brock twisted the car left and right, turning one street from another like an experienced taxi driver on speed. By the time they hit another main road Toby felt dizzy. His breathing came in short bursts, and his lungs had inflated as if he’d just run through those side streets.
Looking behind, he saw busses, taxis, and cars on the road. No white Saab. Brock kept the speed up to what the traffic allowed.
Twenty minutes later they stopped near Edgeware Road on a grim side street by an old college building. Brock turned back and looked through the rear window. Toby concentrated on his breathing as the man studied the traffic on the road they’d just left. After a minute he seemed satisfied.
“We’re going to leave this car here,” he said. “I have another one nearby, but we must walk to it.”
Toby nodded and waited for further instructions. It seemed Brock had gone into military mode, like a soldier on a drill. Not wanting to distract him, Toby asked no questions.
They left the car and walked at a steady pace along the pavement. People marched by, presumably heading for their lunch after a morning in the office or some other everyday setting. To Toby they seemed like ghosts, pedestrians in another dimension, temporarily visible but untouchable.
They headed in the direction of a railway bridge that ran like the humped tail of a dinosaur along a side road. On reaching it, Brock headed to an arch with a car repairs sign over its wooden doors.
The warm stench of oil filled the air, making Toby’s stomach sicker. He was glad when Brock told him to wait outside.
It may have been minutes or even hours, Toby didn’t have a clue, but Brock came out with a new set of keys in his hands.
“Come with me.” He led Toby along the arches to another set of doors.
Inside, a silver Golf sat in the middle of a dark space that smelled, not of oil, but of damp brick and stale air.
Ten minutes later they were driving west, away from the city.
As London disappeared, Toby relaxed and watched as Brock followed the signs leading to the M4. On the motorway he took Toby’s hand for a few moments as if he wanted to show him everything was ok.
The simple gesture brought Toby back into play, and the questions began to force their way from his mouth.
“Who was the man?” he asked. “Who was the man in the box?”
“Carter,” Brock said.
Although this guy Carter would have killed him if Brock hadn’t knocked him out, Toby still couldn’t deal with the fact he was dead.
“You killed him?”
“I think he was going to kill me.”
“Why?”
“The man I work for is concerned about my actions in recent weeks.”
“Who do you work for?”
“A man called Mason,” he said. “Mason found us and had us trained, and he’s the one who talks to the clients and arranges the jobs for us.”
Toby nodded and gazed ahead. It was early in the afternoon, and being Monday, the motorway wasn’t busy; he felt a sense of order as he watched the cars ahead, seeming static in their flow.
“Was it Mason who decided I was a target?” he asked.
Brock was silent. Toby turned to face him.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “He spoke to me yesterday about Friday night. The client who ordered the hit on the man you were with discovered you’d been there that night. They see you as a loose end.”
Toby felt sick. Everything he’d worried about was true. Someone was out there, behind it all, and they knew he’d seen it. And this someone was willing to pay money to have him killed. It made him want to hide beneath the dashboard as he gazed at the other cars flying down the motorway.
“Who is this client?”
“I don’t know who the client is. Only Mason knows this.”
“Who is Mason? Why is he doing this? Are you part of the secret service or something?”
Brock’s eyes tensed. His brow pressed down.
“Mason is my boss, sort of. He has contacts in the banking industry. We work mainly for them. We act as security guards for the big heads in the city mostly, but every now and then they want someone hit. Mason organizes these things.”
“We?” Toby looked at him sharply. “How many of you are there?”
“I know of at least four others like me who work for Mason,” he said. “Carter was one of them, but I think Mason has others on standby.”
Toby’s guts strangled his stomach.
“So they’re gonna go after me now?”
Brock closed his eyes.
“Don’t ask these questions please,” he said without anger. “We need to get to a safe place and then we can relax.”
To relax seemed alien to Toby. His heart galloped in his chest and his stomach felt like it was caving in. He realized he’d eaten nothing for almost twenty four hours, and although unlikely he’d hold anything down, he needed to do something normal.
“I want coffee,” he said. “And a cigarette. Stop at the next service station.”
Brock shook his head.
“We cannot stop.”
The machine like demeanour was wearing thin on Toby. It served them well in the city but they were free on the open road now.
“I need the toilet,” he said.
Brock looked at him and his eyes seemed to soften a little, as if he’d realized what he’d just put him through.
The next turn off provided services, and Brock steered the car to the outer lane. He studied the mirror as he left the motorway. Toby looked back to see if anyone had followed. No one had.
A sprawling car park sat in front of a five block hotel that was attached to a low lying building with long windows. Neon letters spelling ‘refreshments’ lit up the windows, making it look like a beach front attraction. Brock parked the car near the entrance.
Inside, the large cafe was mostly empty. Men and women in business suits sat together drinking coffee. The smell hung in the air. To the left, a small shop sold drinks and newspapers.
Toby spotted the cigarettes behind the counter and told Brock to get him a coffee while he went into the shop.
The woman behind the counter, young, blonde, with the name ‘Debbie’ on her badge, appeared bored. He asked for a pack of Marlboro and a lighter then glanced at the newspapers stacked on the counter.
One headline informed of tax being cut for the rich, another told of a surge in oil prices. Toby took little interest until his eyes came to rest on one of the broadsheets.
MYSTERY MAN SOUGHT IN LORDS DEATH.
He felt an impulse to read on.
“Will there be anything else?”
He looked up to see Debbie staring at him with a half-smile.
He grabbed the paper. As he did his eyes fell onto one of the tabloids.
SIR FAULKNER IN DRUG BINGE ROMP WITH MALE ESCORT.
It felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach as he picked up the tabloid and handed both papers to the woman. After pulling a twenty from the wad of notes in his wallet, he paid her and took the papers away from the counter, reading the tabloid article.
A sensational press release by London Metropolitan Police investigating the death of Sir Tony Faulkner, found dead in a Park Lane hotel on Saturday morning, have issued a plea for a young man, believed to be a male escort, to come forward and help piece together the last few hours of Sir Faulkner’s life. The young man is described as being in his early twenties, athletically built, with dark brown hair and around six feet tall. There is speculation this man entertained the late Lord in his hotel room and supplied him with class A drugs, which may have triggered the fatal heart attack...
Toby stopped breathing. He couldn’t figure out how they knew he was an escort. There was no picture of him on the cover and he turned quickly to page five where the rest of the story continued. He was relieved to find no picture there too, and folded the paper so he could look at the other one. Again there was no picture.
Police are searching for a mystery man seen with the late Sir Tony Faulkner the night before he was discovered dead in a Park Lane hotel. A hotel source made a statement saying a young man was seen with the Lord in the hotel lobby at 9:30 pm on Friday 18th March, just nine hours before his body was discovered by staff. The man, believed to be in his early twenties, is described as having dark brown hair, well built, and between five feet ten and six feet tall. It is not clear if the young man is implicated in the death of the Lord, but police investigators described evidence of drug use in the Lord’s room and have not ruled out a drug induced heart attack being the cause of death. Police appeal to the young man to come forward to help with enquiries, and have made it clear they are not treating the Lord’s death as suspicious at this stage.
A woman with two children entered the shop. He folded the papers quickly and went to the café. He found Brock at a table behind a large plastic plant sipping a carton of milk. A coffee waited for Toby.
After seeing the headlines, Toby felt every set of eyes on him and was glad the plant shielded them.
“Look at these,” he whispered as he sat.
Brock took the newspapers. Toby downed the coffee. It was harsh, but warm, and he needed the caffeine.
Brock frowned as he read and Toby could see the thoughts in his eyes.
“I’m a dead man aren’t I?” Toby leaned across the table. “Your people, this Mason guy, he’s not going to let me talk to the police is he?”
Brock looked up, his eyes appeared uncertain.
“We have to get out of here,” he said quietly, peering through the plant at the other tables. “We need to get far away from people.”
Toby inhaled nervously; felt the need for a smoke.
“I’m going to the toilet,” he whispered as he got up.
The sign for the toilets was near the entrance, so he headed across. He had to walk by two men who both looked at him. The woman with the children came out of the shop and looked at him. All these eyes made his legs hurry.
The gents were long with several sets of urinals and a bank of cubicles. A man was zipping his fly as he headed to the sinks, but Toby saw no one else. He headed for a cubicle and locked himself in and waited until the man left before lighting up.
Visions of the police filled his head, teams of them scoring the streets of London, showing pictures to passers-by (“Have you seen this man?”)
He smoked.
They must have a CCTV shot of him at least.
He smoked.
What if they released that to the press? His mother would faint.
He smoked.
***
All day Brock had been on one track, locked on the task of getting himself and Toby away. After reading what he’d read, it seemed the whole world was about to know what he did last Friday. There was no way Mason would want him alive now, and a deep crease in his gut told him this could have all been avoided if Mason had done his job properly. The client must have had an idea the target wasn’t alone on the night of the hit. If they knew where he was staying, and in which room, they must have known about Toby being with him.
He folded the papers tight and placed one on top of the other as a man walked by the table. About thirty years old. Short blonde hair. A bald spot developing on top. He sat down at a table further along the row and glanced across the room. Brock looked down at the papers. When he glanced back, the man was still looking.
He could have followed them. He didn’t recognize the man but Mason had many contacts and could send any number of people after them.
He thought he’d been careful. The car they were in was unknown to the others, Brock had made certain that arrangement had been kept hidden. But there were a million ways of finding things out, and if Mason had been suspicious of him after the Friday night job, he was likely suspicious of him for any number of weeks or months prior.
He slid his hand into his jacket and felt for the dispenser. There was enough left to down another man, and although the restaurant was public, it was quiet enough for him to try.
Still gazing down the rows of tables, the man smiled and waved.
A second later a little girl ran past, followed by a woman carrying a tray with cakes and cups on it.
Brock relaxed his grip on the dispenser as they sat down with the man.
He stood and looked around. The few people in the café paid no attention.
Walking between the tables, he tried to make sense of the articles. The press were hungry. A government advisor dying of a heart attack is a single story, but throw in the possibility of drugs and an escort being involved and it becomes sensational journalism that would sell papers for weeks. He couldn’t imagine the police releasing that information unless they wanted Toby to come forward, which would mean they were treating the death as suspicious.
He moved quickly through the foyer and walked by the shop towards the toilets. The people around seemed not concerned with him and he tried to ignore his mind nagging at each tiny glance he received. No one, apart from Mason, Drake, and Toby, knew he had killed that Lord.
The toilets smelled of cigarette smoke. No one appeared to be in and Brock took a leak before going to the row of cubicles. All but the one at the far end were free, so he headed to that closed door and knocked gently.
Silence.
“Toby?” Brock said quietly.
“What?”
“We should get going now.”
The door unlocked. Toby stood with a half smoked cigarette in his mouth.
“Where are we going?” he said, not moving from the cubicle.
Brock noted the distrust in his eyes.
“We’re going somewhere quiet where we can lay low,” he said, trying to smile for him. “Don’t worry about the articles. They weren’t saying anything certain. It was speculation.”
Toby didn’t budge.
“They know I’m an escort. The police think I did it.” He gritted his teeth. “Your boss knows I saw you do it, so he’s gonna kill me.”
“I can get you to a safe place. A place Mason doesn’t know about.”
“The police will hunt me down.” Toby took a long drag of his cigarette. “If your people can hunt me down and order me dead, the police can hunt me down and arrest me for murder.”
He said those words with a frowning sneer that made Brock look down at the tiled floor.
“We can worry about that later,” he said. “Believe me, I can keep you safe from Mason, and in a few days the issue with the dead Lord will be old news. The man had a heart attack; the police will not suspect you.”
Toby threw his cigarette butt down the toilet, took another one out of the pack and shoved it between his lips. As attractive as Toby was, the sight of a man smoking didn’t appeal to Brock.
“Stop smoking. It’s making you more anxious.”
“I’m gonna die.” Toby lit the cigarette and took a long drag. “Or I’m gonna go to prison.”
As much as Brock wanted to play down the situation, he was finding it hard to know what to say. He could see that Toby was holding something back. Although he wasn’t saying it in words, his eyes were blaming.
Deep down Brock knew it was his fault. He may have killed Faulkner because someone paid him, and that someone would have paid another to do it if he hadn’t. But he had done the job, and now Toby’s life was a mess.
Perhaps Toby was thinking of going to the police; maybe he saw that as his only way out.
“Come back to the car.” He reached out a hand and touched his face. “By tonight we can be somewhere Mason and the police would never find us.”
Toby seemed to sulk as Brock stroked along his cheek. He smoked and sighed out the smoke. His eyes didn’t settle. Brock reached further and softly rubbed his neck.
Toby’s eyes closed as if a moment free of tension had come.
“Come with me,” Brock whispered. “I’ll look after you, I promise.”
He had no idea how long he could keep him safe, but the main thing was getting Toby out of his chain smoking binge and into the car.
A faint smile softened Toby’s face and after putting the cigarette out, he left the cubicle. Like a lost child wanting a hug, he moved close to Brock.
In his arms Toby felt heavy; as if his body were so tired he could barely stand.
“If we work together we’ll be fine,” Brock whispered in his ear.
He was more confident about holding off Mason’s men than he was about the police. But if he could get them to where he was heading, they could prepare for what was to come.