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Once in the trees, hidden from sight, I ran my hands over myself. Slashes in the jacket, rips in the jeans, but no streaming blood. Flashes of that razor aiming for my balls had me check again carefully. I was lifting the long leather jacket when it clicked; the jacket had taken the damage.
I would live and there was no need to go bother Doc Jerry. Walking across the park, the adrenaline wore off. Climbing the back stairs was like stepping back into the bad old days. Every breath hurt like fuck.
Staggering in, I came face to face with Rachel.
"Max, you're hurt!"
"It's nothing."
But she was fluttering about. "We need to get you to accident and emergency."
I took her hand. "It's okay."
Huge green eyes filled with fright. "How can you be so calm? Do you know there's blood all over your face?"
"Most of it's not mine."
"Jesus, Max, that doesn't make it any better." But she grinned reluctantly. "What happened?"
"I need a shower. Put on the kettle, would you? Two sugars, no milk."
"Hot and sweet, just like you." But she went off quietly enough.
The medicine cabinet was empty but thankfully, I had some pain pills left from Bagdad in my backpack. Plain old codeine, but it would do. Two of them and a boiling hot shower settled most of the damage.
Ribs on both sides turning black, with a couple on the left cracked for certain. Thankfully, my leather jacket had acted like armour, cushioning the impact of the blows. My forearms were blackening too, but the bones weren't broken.
That had been sheer luck. The bats had hit me square on, spreading the impact evenly.
I checked the underside of my forearms. Both were bruised from wrist to elbow. A fraction of an angle differently, and I would have shattered bones.
My hands were cut, bruised and swelling rapidly. That's what happens when you belt someone in the kisser: bone hitting bone is never clever. There was also a graze running down the side of my face. The bats that had missed cracking my skull had barely touched the skin but as face wounds are always dramatic, the blood still oozed.
There were cuts on my thighs, three of them, but all superficial. I checked them carefully. One was a good four inches, but not deep enough to need stitches.
I dried myself off, sighing with relief. It was minor damage. I'd been very lucky. If that van hadn't appeared, it would have been a different story.
There was a knock on the door. "Max, want your tea in there?"
"I'll come out."
Towel wrapped around me, I checked my clothes. My leather jacket would need mending. The jeans were ripped and not worth repairing. I blessed myself for having shrugged on the jacket out of sheer habit. Without its protection, I would have been in serious trouble.
"Ouch." Rachel hissed in sympathy. "So much for that not being your blood."
"It's just a bit gory."
She pushed a mug of tea into my hand. "It needs antiseptic. Where's your first aid kit?"
One wrist in plaster and practically falling over from weakness, but she was still trying to help. I put a careful arm around her. "It's nothing. What I need is to sit down and just be."
She snuggled into me. "Okay. I mean, not okay, you're hurt." A shuddering breath. "I get it. Bruises and ouch, but no broken bones."
Poor Rachel. It's what her dad had done to her. "Exactly so. But you should see the other guys."
That got her giggling. "I shouldn't laugh. But Max, you're so tough."
I pushed back my imaginary cowboy hat, drawling, "A man's gotta do."
Another giggle, and less forced. Rachel was bouncing back. But under the smiles, the strain was visible.
"Come and sit with me, love."
It didn't take long to update her on events. "Alex, Masher and Menzies are in the clear. None of them killed Mandy."
"You're out of suspects," Rachel sighed.
I wasn't. I had several ideas about what might have happened. But while I could see plenty of Whys, I couldn't see Hows. "It'll come, love. If I keep pushing, the information will shake loose."
"But more pushing might lead to more bashing," Rachel sighed. "You look like you've been chewed up and spit out, Max."
"I'll be okay." But drinking my tea, I reflected on my options. Quentin had hit it on the nail: the Razors would never have dared attack me if I'd been in the family business. Alex had been right, too. The attack had been well coordinated, a far cry from the shambles three years ago.
Which meant this wasn't over.
"Max, what are you thinking?"
"Who's the bloke who guards Masher's stairwell? Bald, with tats on his knuckles. Looks like a nutsack."
Rachel frowned. "I wouldn't know. I've never been there."
"You had a fling with Jaffa. Think."
"Oh." She frowned in concentration. "Hang on, it may be Jaffa's sidekick. Arthur King."
One of them had called out to an Art. "That sounds right. Who are his besties?"
Rachel picked up her phone. "He has an Insta account. Let me show you."
"You're kidding me." But it was true. I gawped. "Clouds? Unicorns? Seriously?"
Rachel grinned. "It's a front. The unicorn is for Laughing Unicorn, MDMA, and that cloud is for Sky High poppers."
Talk about brazen. No wonder the Razors were making a fortune. "This is Art King's feed?"
"Yes." Rachel typed away and then showed me a list. "Look, here's his profile. Is that him?"
"Yeah, that's the nutsack."
"He has a brother, Davy. Art sells and Davy is in charge of the runners."
I recognised the thin blade of a nose. "Great. Is there another brother?"
"Not that I know of."
"Any idea where these two live?"
"The flat above the Spinnaker." Rachel put her phone away. "They deal from there."
"Thanks, love."
"Max, what are you up to?"
"Nothing. Let's order some takeout. Are there any good films on?"
Rachel's radar was working overtime, but she shrugged and settled down. We ordered lasagne from the Black Olive and watched Bohemian Rhapsody. By the time Freddie Mercury strutted off the Live Aid stage, it was past midnight.
Rachel lay curled up, half zonked with sleep and meds. I was feeling pretty good. The codeine had kicked in nicely, helped along by a shot of 25-year-old Cullen Single Malt.
"You take the bed, love. I'm going to check downstairs is shut tight. I need to do the register too."
The green eyes snapped open. "Pull the other one, Max. Surely you're not going out to fight them?"
"Of course not."
"Yeah, okay."
She thought I didn't trust her. I should have kept my trap shut, but I couldn't bear the hurt in her eyes. "If Grimstead asks, you tell him I had to check the till."
The unhappiness vanished. "Oh, right. I see." She swallowed. "Please be careful."
"Nothing to be careful about, love. It's just counting cash."
The cuts were oozing but clean. I slapped on big plasters and wrapped myself with a bandage to keep them in place and protected. Then I put on my anti-slash hoodie, a thinly woven mesh lined with Kevlar, my Hornee jeans, made for superbike owners, and also Kevlar lined. The leather jacket went over the top.
The plain black helmet was to confuse any potential witnesses, but it too was Kevlar. It could take a whack from a bat, no problem. The telescoping baton and knuckleduster were pure steel.
Kitted up for trouble, I walked down the street and trotted through the park. Entering the main street, I saw the Spinnaker was in darkness. The flat above was lit up, but the street was deserted. It being midweek and not a holiday, there'd be few customers.
The streetlight was still out. Interestingly, the stairwell light was out too. Just down the road, Masher's place was shut, but the light above the door shone brightly.
It made sense. Masher would have his night time security system geared to react to movement, which needed a lot of light. But Art King and his brother would have their customers come and go with as little fanfare as possible.
I pulled down the helmet's visor and walked up the dark stairwell. There were two doors on the first floor, but as one was pristine and the other had a wrecked letterbox and bell, it was obvious where the dealer lived.
Holding up a ten-pound note to the peephole, I rattled the letterbox. "Hey, you's in there."
"What?"
"Got any Laughing Unicorn, mate?"
The door opened, revealing a bloody nose and two blackening eyes. "Yeah, sure, but-"
I socked him in the gut. When he doubled over, I kneed him in the balls. "Hi, Davy." He wasn't saying much, so I belted him again. "I came to settle our business."
Davy wasn't saying a word and nobody came rushing out. I shut the door, and the next few moments were filled with incident. For him, not for me.
I paid him back for the slug to the ribs, underlined that I didn't appreciate being jumped by pounding him in the gut, and when he was limp, I shook him to keep him conscious. "Where's your brother?" It didn't work. The weak fuck passed out.
Thankfully, his phone was on the coffee table, right next to a bottle of whiskey. Teachers, in case you're curious. It's great if you want to make a highball, but it's not my favourite.
The phone was shut, but Davy was in no condition to stop me from using his fingerprint to get in. Brother Art's text was on top. From the photo of a kebab, he was on a takeaway run. I recognised the red and yellow paper; Ali's Kebab House. It was a block away.
Art barged in just as I settled Davy's prone figure by the coffee table, exclaiming, "Let's call in some company. I fancy a shag."
"Hello, Art."
The kebabs went flying. My boot missed him by a whisker and the tattooed fingers came up clutching a razor. "I'll have you."
"Try it."
He swiped at me, but the leather jacket and Kevlar top worked great. The blade bounced off, and the layers cushioned the blow.
"Fuck!" The nutsack was plenty quick. He switched hands and aimed low. "I'll bag you!"
In the street, I had nothing but my wits. But in the flat, there was plenty to innovate with. As he swung the blade, I picked up the coffee table and whacked him with it. He crashed into the wall, and before he could gather his wits, I kicked him in the balls. That was the end of him, but my blood was still up. I booted him in the ribs a bit, and then picked him up and punched him in the face.
This time, I was careful not to put him out. When he slid to the floor, I stirred him with my foot. "Where's the third man?"
"Screw you."
A tough nut. No problem. "Just tell me when you're ready to talk."
"Never."
The baton ran out freely. "Ribs first." The blow didn't register, so I hung back a few seconds. When his eyes widened, I tapped him again. "Once I run out of ribs, I break arms."
The shiny head was sweaty, but the eyes were hard. "Fuck off."
"Not yours. Davy's."
"Wait. Hang on." Davy was on his side, vomiting. "Christ. I'm coughing up blood."
"I'll break your arms. That will take your mind off it."
"No-no-no, wait!" The younger brother had no scruples. "It was Teach."
As neither King could stand, I picked up Davy's phone and texted Teach. Got some company. Fancy a shag?
Honestly, I wasn't expecting a response. But the door across the hallway banged open seconds later. "Hell, yes." And there he was; the third man.
A baton in the balls brought him to his knees, and my boots were in his ribs seconds later. By the time I worked him over, there was puke all over the floor. Teach pissed himself too, so the carpet was a right mess.
When I was finished, I kicked Davy and Art. "Right, let's get something straight."
"Something's busted inside." Davy was freaking out. "I'm coughing up blood."
"Because he punched you in the face, you arse." Nutsack Art held it together.
I kicked them both and then booted Teach for good measure. "I'm talking." As they all shut up, I put it to them. "I don't want a war. Whatever you're up to, I don't care." I kicked them all again. "I'm out of this."
"Right. Okay." Art got the message.
I booted him. "Shut. Up." They were silent and attentive. "As I'm out of it, you get one warning. Cross me again, and you won't see me coming."
Three huddled heaps.
"Got me?"
"Yes!"
Art tried to be a hard man. "You made your point, Trigger."
"This was not the point. This was to get your attention." I put on my knuckleduster. "And now, I shall make my point."
"Don't kill me," Teach sobbed. "Please don't kill me."
I put it out there. "Any trouble for me, my family or my business, a broken window, a threatening call to the house, if it comes to a threat of fucking rain, even, I will know where to look."
They got it alright, but the message had to be seared into their minds.
"Next time, I end it. And you won't see me coming for you."
Now for the finisher. The toughest of the bunch had to go first. It would scare the others. Also, I didn't want the hard man to witness his weaker brother being beaten further; that kind of rage burns through sense. My message had to stay intact.
I picked nutsack Art up by the scruff, and I gave him a punishment beating. It was ugly, and he passed out a very long three minutes later. The other two tried to run, but they couldn't stand up. Their punishment barely lasted a minute, although I'm certain it felt longer to them. Davy screamed and fainted practically instantly, and Teach added pooh to piss.
When they were all solidly unconscious, I used a bat and broke their arms. Only the right ones. I was pissed off but not raging. I didn't break their ankles either. The message would go over clearly without crippling them for life. Then I went home.
"You're okay!" Rachel was up and fluttering again.
"Of course I am."
She patted me, checking. "You're really okay," she said with relief.
It was past one in the morning. "Go to bed, love. Get some rest."
"A-are they dead?"
"No way." I took her through and tucked her in. Tales of doing the till wouldn't work. She needed settling. "It's over. Everyone is now walking away." Or rather, they would be after a few days in hospital. But it wasn't the time to point that out.
"You need rest." She couldn't help yawning. "The bed's huge. Just climb in."
"Great idea."
She was unconscious before I left the room. I took two more codeine tablets, dossed down on the sofa and was out in seconds too-and straight back in Iraq, watching them beat Jarvis.
"Max."
"Motherfucking bastards!"
"Hey, waken up." Rachel stroked my cheek, "You're home safe."
The sweat ran off me. I was home, safe, but to my horror, I had my hands on her, squeezing her arms. I let go immediately. "Sorry."
"Nightmares," Rachel said matter-of-factly.
Shame flooded through me. Ridiculous, but there you go. As if you can control dreams. "Did I hurt you?"
"I'm not feeling a thing. That dope Doc Galen gave me is amazing. If Jaffa knew, he'd be begging to deal it."
"Rachel -"
"I'm the same," she informed me. "I close my eyes and he's strangling me or breaking my wrist. Or I see poor Mandy."
My arms were around her. "I was afraid of that."
"Shift over, Max." She snuggled into me, cast on my chest. "This sofa is as big as my bed."
She smelled fantastic, sweet soap and girl, all mixed up together. And it was having an effect. "Uhm."
Her eyes were shut, but she was smiling. "I'm still pretty."
"Yeah." She felt good too. My ribs should have hurt, but with her soft warmth, I felt no pain. I told myself it was the codeine, but it wasn't. It was having her there.
"This is nice," Rachel murmured.
Falling right back asleep would be a disaster. From experience, the nightmare would rocket back. I'd stay awake a while, hugging her sweetness. For a moment, I was a kid again, putting horror flicks on TV, so I had an excuse to hold her in my arms.
A hand brushed my cheek again. "Remember when we were kids?"
"Snap. It seems like another life but at the same time, just like yesterday."
As we lay quietly, the horror of the hut receded. Jarvis had survived, but it was doubtful whether he'd walk again. I resolved to phone him. I'd not told him yet that I was back in the country.
"Not prying, but I saw your back," Rachel murmured.
Hell. She would want to talk about it.
"I hope you totalled the bastards."
"Uhm, yes."
"Good."
It utterly took me aback. No questions, no prying, just acceptance.
She stretched, yawning and making herself comfortable. "Aunt Flossy was a star, but her friends never let up asking nosy questions. It used to drive me nuts."
I stroked her hair. "We are a pair, aren't we?"
"Mandy had scars like yours." Rachel still had her eyes shut. "She was raped by her mum's drunken boyfriend. Afterwards, he beat her."
It was the one thing they hadn't gotten round to in Iraq. I decided once again to be grateful. "Is the bloke still around?"
"No, they arrested him and someone knifed him while he was inside."
"Good."
"He was arrested for armed robbery, not for what he did to Mandy."
It's what happens. Nobody cares about kids in care, but it made me see red. "Fuckers."
"I'm telling you because Mandy may have bought and set up that camera, but she wasn't a bad person," Rachel murmured. "It's not right, but don't judge her, okay? She had it tough."
"She almost got you killed, love."
"That wasn't her trying to strangle me."
A sweet, gentle girl. "I'll find out who did it."
"Good." Rich satisfaction in her voice. "He'd better watch out."
Except I was out of suspects. "Was anyone close to her?"
"Every man in Ringmere," Rachel sighed.
"This would have to be someone she trusted."
"There was nobody like that," Rachel said instantly.
"She had no family, right? What happened to her mum?"
"She was a drunk, and a nasty one. Every now and again, they'd take Mandy away for a few months and put her in care. But there'd be a custody hearing and back she'd go."
All my life I'd had a solid home with lots of love. I tried to imagine being shifted about, constantly on the move, and my heart went out to her. "That's no way to treat a kid."
"They should have taken her away permanently, but they don't, do they?" Rachel sighed. "It's always about the mum's rights, never about the kid's."
"What happened to the mum?"
"She drank herself to death a few years ago. Mandy said she was literally blind from bathtub gin and her liver and kidneys had packed in too."
"Nasty way to go."
"Yeah, Mandy was pretty haunted. She never hit the bottle the way I do sometimes, but she'd hook up with some meat sausage and bang her way to oblivion."
"Rachel!" It was awful, but I couldn't help but laugh. "What a revolting expression."
She giggled. "Well, sex does help."
I remembered working my way through the good-time girls when times were rough. "Guess you're right."
"I got myself onto yoga, meditation and exercise," Rachel confided, "but Mandy wasn't interested. She was too angry, I think. She wanted revenge."
"Against who?"
"Nobody. Or maybe everybody."
And why not. After all, life had not been fair to her.
Rachel was on automatic. "What I want is a good man and an enjoyable life. I don't need oodles of cash; I just want a little flat, to go on holiday every year, and not to worry about having a glass of wine with dinner." She sighed, adding, "And as we're busy dreaming, I'd love a timeshare in Cyprus. Beaches, seafood, salad and the best wine on earth. It's my idea of heaven."
I stroked the silky hair. "You're well on your way, love. You've got a substantial business, you're on the property ladder, and you're making it."
"What do you want, Max?"
Forgiveness. Redemption. To forget. It was ridiculous. I had taken every step, knowing exactly what I was letting myself in for. "My family safe and healthy. To get a plumbing business going. And to have good friends around me."
She snuggled into me. "That's a good one."
The curves leaning against mine were having their effect. I wasn't feeling my ribs or any pain. My imagination turned on the rerun button. I was sixteen again, watching Rachel take off her top and laughing as she kissed me.
"Max."
The curves shifted, and then she was in my arms.
A sweet press of soft lips against mine. The scent of soap and flowers enveloping me. A long, drugging kiss, arousing erotic delight. Soft skin against mine, silky hair trailing sensuously.
A shivering, sucking in of breaths. Tongues dancing against each other, circling and seeking delicious delight.
A warm chuckle in the dark. Intensifying perfume of warm woman. Soft rich breasts brushing against my skin, the tight buds electrifying my skin, sending goosebumps of anticipation and want racing through me.
Her body teetering on the edge of the sofa. "Big, but not big enough."
"Me?"
Her giggle in my ear. "The sofa, you dolt."
"Oooh, that makes me want you."
The teasing and laughter bound us together. Another soft, lingering kiss. Her voice an erotic whisper. "Let's move to the bed."
Her long, luscious limbs would wrap around me. I'd sink deep inside her warm depths. "Sweet Rachel."
And then I knocked her cast.
Her wince went straight through me, killing passion. "You okay?"
"Yes."
But I was suddenly afraid to touch her. I would hurt her, and she'd been hurt enough. Old pain flooded me. I was back in the past, steeped in blood. No woman deserved to be pulled into my shit.
"Max?"
"We've had a rough day." I disentangled myself carefully. "Thanks for the rescue, love. I'll sleep now."
"But -"
I didn't want a scene. "We both need rest." And to prove it, my ribs kicked in as I sat up, causing me to hiss involuntarily.
Rachel shrank away immediately. "S-sorry."
I was horrified. "Hey, Red. It's okay."
Her chin was up. "Of course it is." But she was backing off. "Goodnight, Max."
"Goodnight, love."
Poor Rachel. I recognised the instinctive shrinking came from years of living with her violent drunken dad. Part of me yearned to hug her. But staying away was the right thing to do. She was hurt, but tangling with me might kill her. Sleep was slow to come.