Jay Markham peered over his shoulder, taking a long look along the dark street. He was alone. Everyone else was safely inside, tucked up in their beds most likely. He’d spent a miserable evening at home, slumped in front of the TV, flipping channels and munching toast, washing the painkillers down with mugs of tea. The pain in his hand had receded to a dull ache, but his skin itched, and when he looked in the mirror, his pupils were the size of pinpricks. He needed a drink; he hadn’t had one for days. He’d tried a can of beer, and it hadn’t agreed with the painkillers at all. A few mouthfuls from a can of IPA and a rush of dizziness had sent him staggering to the sofa. His stomach had squirmed, his chest muscles clamping so tight he could scarcely breathe, and his heart had shuddered violently against his ribs. He’d dropped the can on the floor, the beer soaking into the carpet, and he’d vowed not to drink until he was off the medication. The problem was, the more he took the damned pills, the less effective they seemed to be.
Bloody doctor, he thought bitterly. I’ll have to find another way, get something else for the pain. One thing was for sure: he couldn’t go cold turkey. He’d been through this before, after the whiplash injury to his neck. He was sensitive to opiates, that was the problem. Back then, the doctors had said they’d done everything they could, then they’d delivered a diagnosis of chronic pain and sent him home. It was a question of managing his pain, they’d said, living with it, accommodating it, putting up with a new set of limitations.
But he’d shown them. He’d proved them wrong, using most of his compensation to pay for a private physiotherapist: a specialist in spinal injuries. She’d put him through the mill, but he’d persisted, pushing himself to improve, retraining his body, building himself up until he was just as strong as before. It hadn’t been easy, and it had cleaned out his bank account, but it had been worth it to feel like himself again, to be a man.
Look at me now, he thought, hunching his shoulders, his hands in his pockets as he dawdled along the uneven pavement. All that work, all that effort, and now it was lost, ruined by a stupid accident and a cut on his hand.
When he’d gone in for his stitches, he’d tried to tell them he didn’t want any strong painkillers, but they hadn’t listened, hadn’t understood. So here he was, hooked on the damned things all over again. He’d phoned the doctors’ surgery, but when they’d told him there was a week-long wait for an appointment, he’d slammed the phone down. A week! He couldn’t stand a week of this. No way. There were private hospitals he could call if he had the money, and maybe they could help. He just needed the cash to pay for the consultation, and he had nowhere near enough.
But maybe he could do something about that, sooner rather than later. If this works out, he thought, I could get myself sorted out.
He halted beside a wrought-iron gate, then taking a last glance at the empty street, he pushed the gate open and walked silently over the brick-paved driveway toward the semi-detached house.
There was a doorbell beside the double-glazed door, but Jay raised his left hand and rapped on the frosted glass. Inside, a light glowed and a dark shape loomed as the resident approached.
Jay stepped back, squaring his shoulders, and when the door was yanked wide, the imposing figure of a middle-aged man filled the opening.
“All right, Derek,” Jay said. “You know why I’m here.”
Derek’s humourless grin pinched his flabby cheeks into a clownish expression, but his eyes burned with resentment and mistrust. “Jay, we’ve been through this a hundred times. You get paid when I get paid, all right?”
“So bloody well get off your arse and go and get my money. It’s been weeks.”
“Tell me about it,” Derek said. “I laid out for the materials. I’m out of pocket on this job.”
“So what are you mucking around at?”
“You know what she’s like. Ah, she can look like butter wouldn’t melt when she puts her mind to it, but she’s hard as nails. I’ve argued with her until I was blue in the face, and she always swears blind she’ll pay. But I’ve not had a penny from her. Nothing.”
Jay shook his head slowly, his gaze fixed on Derek. “Not good enough. I need that money, Derek. I need it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, now.”
“I can’t help you, mate. What can I do about it?”
Jay lunged forward, grabbing the front of Derek’s T-shirt with his left hand. He leaned in, pressing his face close to Derek’s. “Give me my money, Derek. I won’t ask again.”
Recovering fast, Derek planted his meaty hands on Jay’s chest and shoved him away. “Watch yourself, Jay. You don’t come around here, to my house, making demands. Now piss off home before I teach you some respect.”
“You’ll be the one learning a lesson,” Jay growled. “If my hand wasn’t buggered, I’d—”
“You’d what?” Derek demanded, folding his arms. “I could wipe the floor with you. You’re all talk, Jay. You’re a joke. You make out like you’re big news, but guess what. You’re not a copper anymore. One word from me, and your old pals will come looking for you. And they might just want their money back.”
Jay took a breath, letting it out slowly, staving off the red mist before it made him do something he’d regret. “Listen, Derek, I earned that money. I didn’t spend five days wading through the shit for nothing.”
“I know, and you’ll get—”
“Bollocks! I completely rebuilt those bloody sheds, and I had to replace all the fences. Marjorie Treave never so much as offered me a mug of tea. She owes me. So tell her to pay up, or I swear I’ll go around there and knock the whole bloody lot down.”
“All right, all right,” Derek said. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll give you something to tide you over, and I’ll get the rest as soon as I can.” He rummaged in his pocket and produced a roll of banknotes, peeling off five of them with a practised ease and holding them out to Jay. “Here’s a ton. Don’t complain or you’ll get nothing. Take it or leave it.”
Jay eyed the money. He should tell Derek what he could do with his hundred quid, but the temptation to take the money was too great, and he snatched it from the man’s hand, pocketing the notes.
“Everything all right, Dad?”
Jay looked up to see a young man appear in the hallway, and Derek turned to acknowledge his son. “No problem. Just doing a bit of business with Jay, but we’re done now. He’s just leaving.”
“Now then, Steve,” Jay said, looking past Derek. “All right?”
Steven Holder stood at his father’s side. “Yeah, I’m all right. What do you want?”
“Like your dad said, we had business to discuss,” Jay stated. “Going out somewhere, Steve? At this time of night?”
Steve bridled. “What if I am? What’s it got to do with you?”
“Just asking,” Jay replied.
“It’s what they do these days,” Derek said. “They don’t go out until late, then they finally crawl home at four in the morning.”
“I blame the parents,” Jay said. “No discipline.”
“Ha-ha,” Derek mocked. “Very funny.”
“Ignore him, Dad.” Steve pushed past his father. “See you later. I’m off round Billy’s house.” He marched past Jay without looking back, and a moment later they heard the garden gate click shut.
“Has he not got work in the morning?” Jay asked.
“He’s no need to worry about that. That’s the benefit of having your dad as the boss.” Derek smiled. “Right, I’m off to bed, and if you’ve got any sense, you’ll do the same. Goodnight.”
Derek closed the door, and though Jay was tempted to deliver a swift kick to the PVC panels, he turned on his heel and walked away. In the street, he stopped to take a breath of night air, and in the distance, he spotted Steve marching away, his hands hanging loose at his sides. I only know one bloke called Billy, Jay thought. And you don’t go that way to get to his house. Jay paused for a split second, watching the way Steve moved, then he set off after him, keeping his footsteps light and sticking to the shadows.
Within minutes, Steve reached a quiet cul-de-sac, and Jay hung back, pressing himself against a tall hedge. Watching.
Steve marched toward a cottage that stood on its own. The windows were dark, but without hesitation, Steve slipped down the side of the house and disappeared from view.
Jay moved closer, placing his feet carefully so as not to make a sound. From behind the cottage, a sharp crack rang out, like the snapping of a bolt. Then there was silence.
Dear, oh dear, Jay thought. What are we up to, young Steven?
He moved into the deeper shadow beneath an old horse chestnut tree, and leaned his back against the trunk, taking out his phone and settling in for a patient vigil. But he didn’t have to wait long.
Steve emerged from the front door, closing it quietly before setting off into the street, sauntering along as though he didn’t have a care in the world. And slung over his shoulder, a large black holdall bulged ominously.
Jay waited until Steve was right in front of him, then he stepped from the shadows. “Nice night for it, Steve.”
“Bloody hell! What do you want now?”
Jay waggled his phone in the air. Just doing a little late-night photography. He aimed his phone at Steve to take a picture, and since he’d activated the flash while he’d been waiting, the white light bathed Steve’s scowl in an unflattering glare.
“Stupid bastard!” Steve snarled. “That doesn’t prove anything.” He made to walk away, but Jay darted forward, his hand closing tight on Steve’s arm. Steve struggled, but Jay was ready and he held firm, spinning the younger man around, shaking him.
“Does your old man know you’ve been robbing the holiday cottages? I doubt it. Even Derek’s not stupid enough to crap on his own doorstep.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Let go of my arm, or you’ll get a slap.”
“What, like this?” Releasing his grip on the young man’s arm, Jay lashed out with his fist, his swiping blow catching Steve on the side of his face.
Steve grunted in pain, raising his hands to his head, but before he could do anything else, Jay set about yanking the holdall from his shoulder, pulling it free. Steve resisted, but he was no match for the older man.
“Let’s see what we have here.” Jay peered into the holdall. “What the hell’s this? Power tools or something?” He pulled out a large carrying case, its sides made from sturdy black plastic. “What have you nicked, Stevie boy?”
“It’s a drone,” Steve muttered. “We saw them using it.” He sniffed. “You’re not going to tell my dad, are you?”
Jay stared at him. “That depends. Tell me about this drone, and I might keep quiet.”
“What do you mean?”
Jay curled his finger. “Step this way. My truck’s parked down the road. We’ll talk in there.”
“I’m going home.”
“No, you’re not.” Jay held on to the plastic case then hefted the holdall onto his shoulder. “Bloody hell. What else have you got in here?”
Steve shrugged. “Dunno. Electronic stuff. Looked valuable.”
“I’ll have a look. Follow me.” Jay led the way, Steve traipsing meekly at his side.
But when they arrived at Jay’s truck, Steve kept his distance. “I’m not getting in.”
“For God’s sake, what do you think is going to happen? I have zero interest in driving off with a snivelling little pillock like you in the passenger seat, so shut up, get in and stay quiet.”
Reluctantly, Steve complied, and sitting in the driver’s seat, Jay rummaged through the holdall. “I don’t know what half this stuff is, so I’m willing to bet you have no idea what you’ve got here. You really are a complete amateur, aren’t you? A total no-hoper. What were you expecting to do with all this stuff?”
Steve regarded him sullenly. “Flog it. Got to be worth something.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what you’d get for this little lot,” Jay said. “About five years.”
“You’re not going to shop me, or you’d have done it by now.” Steve tried to make his face hard, but Jay had seen it all before. The kid was scared, out of his depth. Like almost all thieves, Steve was lazy to the core, unwilling to work for the things he wanted. And like all lazy people, he’d take the easy way out as soon as it was offered.
Jay smiled. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to tell me all about the people in that cottage, and you’re going to tell me exactly where they’ve been flying this drone. Then you’re going to leave this bag with me, and you’re going to bugger off home.”
“I don’t know,” Steve said, but his stony expression was already giving way. “What are you going to do with the gear?”
“I’m going to take it back. In the morning, I’ll pop in and tell them I found this bag lying around outside. I’ll say a thief must’ve been disturbed and decided to ditch the lot. If you’re a good lad, Stevie boy, I’ll keep you out of it.”
Steve considered for a second, then he nodded.
“Right,” Jay said. “If you’re sitting comfortably, we’ll begin.”