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With the door open, Marc rested one foot on the map compartment while he waited. When he finally heard the lorry pull up outside the unit, he stubbed out the remains of his cigarette and took the key from the ignition. The unit was plunged into silence as he crossed to the loading bay’s roller door, which he opened with a swift pull on the chain at the side of it.
“You’re late,” he said abruptly when the door was high enough for him to see the man outside.
Carlos, whose name was just visible on a tag stitched onto his dirty overalls, shrugged aside the complaint. “I had to deal with the old lady. She’s got a thing about knowing where I’m going when I leave the house at night. Are the vehicles in there?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the darkness behind Marc.
“Yes. Turn the truck around and I’ll bring the first one out.”
It took a little over twenty minutes to load all four vehicles onto the transporter, and when it was done Marc climbed into the cab while the last of them was secured.
“Money?” Carlos said when he joined Marc, his hand held out expectantly.
“I told you, you can trust me,” Marc said. “Here it is. Twenty-five thousand Euros, as agreed.” He handed over the envelope he took from the inside pocket of his jacket.
Carlos practically snatched the envelope in his eagerness to check the contents. He not only counted the notes he examined a random selection of them to be sure he wasn’t being cheated, either with forged notes or in some other way. Only when he was satisfied did he stuff the envelope into a pocket and start the engine.
The drive to the scrapyard where Carlos worked, and which he used for his side-line of disposing of vehicles used by criminals, passed in silence. Neither man was interested in knowing more about the other than they already did.
“You start taking the vehicles off the back,” Carlos said after parking the transporter by the vehicle crusher that was to be used to get rid of three of the four vehicles on the back. “I’ll turn the lights and the crusher on and get the keys to the crane.”
“What the hell is this?” Carlos demanded when he returned and got a good look at the vehicles he was being paid to dispose of in the light from the spotlights he had turned on. He hadn’t been able to see them clearly when they were being loaded onto the transporter.
“Two vans and a car, like I told you,” Marc said. “What’s the matter? You can get rid of them, can’t you? The crusher can handle them.”
“Yeah, I can crush ‘em. That’s not the problem. The problem is you led me to believe they were used in something simple. Something simple doesn’t leave bullet holes.” He looked at the two vans in concern. “You were involved in that massacre, weren’t you!”
Though he showed no outward reaction to the accusation, Marc swore to himself. The bullet holes in the vans were the one concern he had had, but there had been no way for him to know how Carlos was going to react to them until then. His mind raced as he considered his options.
“Does it really matter what the vehicles were used for?” he asked finally.
“Yeah, it does. Just because I’m a crook doesn’t mean I don’t have a conscience. The reports on the news said a lot of people were killed in that massacre, including women and kids. I have kids of my own, for God’s sake.”
Marc looked shrewdly at Carlos. He was sure he knew what the man was really thinking. “Why don’t I give you an extra twenty-five thousand,” he said. “Will that salve your conscience enough for you to do the job?”
“What kind of man d’you think I am?” Carlos demanded in an outraged tone, though he immediately answered the question himself. “Fifty thousand. An extra fifty thousand and I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Fair enough,” Marc said after a moment, during which he appeared to consider the matter. “But you’d better make sure no-one asks questions about these vehicles.”
“Unless you’ve led them here, there’s no need to worry. Nobody’s asked questions about the other vehicles I’ve disposed of. There’s an extra half dozen crushed up vehicles around here, and I don’t think anyone’s noticed. And that includes an armoured transport van from a bank job,” Carlos bragged about the vehicles he had disposed of. “Do you have the extra money here? I’m not doing nothing till I get the money.”
“I’ve got it, don’t worry. You start crushing and I’ll be right back.” Marc made his way around to the boot of his hire car.
With an eye on Carlos to be sure he couldn’t see what he was doing, Marc removed five bundles of cash from the case he had taken from Rafael Tevez after killing him and then made for the crane. He was sure Carlos knew what he was doing, nonetheless he circled wide around the area so as not to be in any danger should the van fall or something else went wrong.
He climbed to the cab when he reached the crane and passed the money to Carlos. He then stepped back outside, so he wouldn’t distract the man while he was working. His position afforded him a good view of the van as it was lowered into the crusher, while also enabling him to see what Carlos was doing as he manoeuvred the magnet out of the way and then descended to the ground so he could operate the crusher.
Marc was surprised when no blood sprayed out as the van was compressed into a cube of metal that didn’t look large enough to have once been a medium-sized vehicle. He had expected and worried that the bodies hidden in the van would give themselves away when subjected to pressure. Fortunately, that didn’t happen, so there was no way for Carlos to know that he was disposing of more than just vehicles.
**
IT WAS FORTY MINUTES before the two vans had been dealt with and the car had been lifted into the crusher. The remains of the vans had been stacked with other, equally unrecognisable vehicles, where they would soon be joined by the car and, hopefully, wouldn’t be noticed.
While Carlos headed for the crusher controls to deal with the car, Marc made for his hire car. From under the passenger seat, he retrieved an extendible baton, and with it in hand he stalked towards Carlos. When he was close enough to strike, he gave a quick flick of his wrist to extend the baton and then raised his arm to bring the weapon down on Carlos’ head. Unfortunately, things didn’t go as planned.
As if sensing the danger, Carlos turned and twisted out of the way at the last second. The baton clanged against the crusher’s control box, jarring his arm, but Marc didn’t let that stop him. Ignoring the shock of the impact he swung the baton a second time. This time he hit Carlos on the left arm, breaking the bone on the waistline of a hula girl he had tattooed there.
Carlos showed no sign of the pain he must have been feeling, beyond a grunt and a tight compression of his lips. He didn’t even pause to take a breath. Instead, he retaliated immediately, swinging his right fist at Marc’s head.
Marc reeled back from the blow and lashed out with a foot. The kick landed squarely on Carlos’ left knee, yet he showed no more concern over that blow than he had the one that broke his arm. His only reaction was to take a step back to steady himself.
Having been in numerous fights over the years, with people of all sizes, Marc wasn’t intimidated by how much bigger than him Carlos was. He knew that the key to winning a fight, especially against someone larger than him, was to keep his opponent on the defensive until he could land a finishing blow. The bigger man’s apparent indifference to either injuries or pain did concern him, however.
Marc followed up the kick with a blow from the baton that shattered Carlos’ jaw, which produced the first audible reaction from the big man. Carlos tried to call out in pain but the only sound he was able to make was a prolonged moan as his jaw failed to work as it was meant to.
Marc’s next blow struck Carlos on the side of the knee, causing him to stumble. He then doubled him up with a jab to the stomach, before finishing him off with an overhand swing that brought the baton crashing down on Carlos’ head. He put all his strength into the blow and there was a loud crunching sound, audible over the noise made by the crusher, as the skull fractured.
Carlos slumped to the ground and Marc bent to check the big man for signs of life, while holding the baton ready in case he needed to hit him again. There was no pulse, though the body did twitch several times before finally becoming still.
Rummaging in the man’s pockets, he retrieved the money he had given him. He shoved the money into his own pocket and then set about finishing up the work of getting rid of the vehicles used in the attack on Tomas Abrantes’ estate. Carlos’ body went into the boot of his own car, which was then crushed and stacked with the other vehicles.
When he was done, Marc parked the vehicle transporter in the vacant spot where it belonged, with the keys in the ignition, as though someone had forgot to remove them. He then left the yard so he could head back to his hotel and collect his things for his return to France. He had been in Spain for more than a fortnight, organising things for his employer, and that was as long as he liked to be away from home.