Stark Contrasts (An Adam Stark novel Book 1) (9 page)

I never fail to be amazed at how extreme the lesson needs to be in order to get the message across. The earlier run-in and admonishment should have been enough of a warning to result in a permanent change of behaviour but, evidently, it wasn't. It's probably because he believed it was so unusual it could never happen again - after all, he'd gone unchallenged for so long prior to the train and the glue. It's also because that's the way people like him are, the way they were raised. They take no shit, they're an individual, with a right to express themselves in any way they see fit. Well, guess what, asshole? You're wrong! You're part of a society that needs you to follow some basic norms. These are things which help us all get along more smoothly, iron out the creases, prevent tensions overspilling.

He's wandering along with one ear in and one ear out.

Dissonance personified.

I'm wandering along after him. Both ears tuned in.

Righteousness personified.

The place is ready to receive, even if he's not ready to give.

The dark surrounds me in it's welcome embrace. My senses are tuned in to every nuance, every whisper. Things that would unnerve others are absorbed and channelled.

I am very powerful now. Very, very powerful.

He would not have heard me without any aural distraction – in one ear or two. I think he'll listen from now on though.

The injection does its work admirably and, after a while, my lesson has been administered satisfactorily.

18. Listen Up People

Along with the rest of my team, I was called to a briefing. A good number of beat cops were there, along with a few detectives. The usual eclectic collection of voices exchanging pleasantries, war stories, insults and jokes. Nobody seemed to know the purpose behind the gathering. I wandered over to Garry and discovered he was none-the-wiser either. We weren't kept in limbo for too long.

The prick that is Detective Chief Inspector Morris Hargreaves swanned in with his usual air of superiority and contempt, gesturing for us to take our seats. Once the hubbub subsided, he stepped to the front of the room.

“Ok, listen up, people. We have a vigilante or vigilantes running around this city and we need to start doing something to put a stop to their activities.”

This was both intriguing and a total ball-ache. I could definitely kiss goodbye to the leave pencilled in for next week. This would be an all-hands-to-the-pump, overtime-fest.

Vigilantes are bad news for cops. If they choose the right cause, it can make us look like we're not doing our job properly. The man in the street often sides with them; positively roots for them even. Copycats come along and confuse the investigation. The switchboard overloads with hoax and crank calls and the press whip everyone up into a frenzy. Folks start carrying weapons to protect themselves and accidents happen as a result. Gung-ho civilians, intent on helping the cops, start wading into situations they'd be far better staying clear of. Nope, when all things are considered, as far as ordinary coppers are concerned, vigilantes suck - big time.

Now, detectives, that's a different matter - they love them.

Vigilantes tend to create complex puzzles which require piecing together carefully; most of them like to goad the cops regarding their inadequacies, so catching them is all the more satisfying; and with all the press coverage they normally get, the detective who solves the puzzle receives public recognition of their achievement, maybe even a promotion.

DCI Hargreaves relishes holding court like this. A big, juicy case to be solved is right up his alley. He looked particularly enthusiastic this morning.

“I'm going to hand over to DI Stark and DC Katz who will be leading the investigation and will get you up to speed with what we know so far.”

Stark was a big guy, like me. Well-built, imposing and, if I wasn't a thoroughly heterosexual dude, I might even say handsome. Scottish: been in London for a while though, so the accent wasn't as thick as Taggart or Rab C. Nesbitt. Katz, on the other hand, was an out and out babe. Her incredible eyes were obvious from across the room, as were her dazzling, pearly whites. She has a kind of Latin look about her but I think someone told me she was English. Stark took the lead on filling us in.

“Thank you, sir. Good morning everyone. As DCI Hargreaves just said, we appear to have a vigilante on the loose. However, at this stage we can't rule out the possibility that there are two or more people involved.”

A murmur sprung up, heads shook and sceptical glances were exchanged.

“Yes, I know, that's pretty unusual, but once you see where we're at, you'll understand why we can't totally discount it yet.

“It started with the assault of a young black man called Dwayne Clements. He had his teeth yanked out and his mouth sewn up for the heinous crime of...wait for it...chewing gum. More specifically, for not disposing of it appropriately. The attacker left a note explaining why they did it.”

A few folks snorted with disbelief, a few 'no ways' were uttered, but Stark just carried on with the briefing. I was more than a little perturbed at how familiar that sounded.

“Next up, was a guy called Ernie Martin; white, poor, lorry driver. He got crushed between his truck and his van for being a tailgater. His wife says he was abducted by two guys and terrorised in a game of chicken a week before he was killed. Story checks out with the local plod - Martin reported it but the locals had nothing to work with. The problem we have here is that the note left at the scene of the murder is written in the singular. It makes no mention of a team effort.”

I looked over at Garry, our eyes widening in unison. I shook my head to indicate that we should try not to draw any unwanted attention to our mutual anxiety. Stark went on.

“Then, last week, a city trader called Calvin Jacobs was shoved in front of a Tube train during the morning rush hour. This time the excuse given by our new hero was
Jacobs
shoved folks out of the way to get on trains, so he deserved it.”

Again the muttering and gesticulations began to grow in volume and obviousness and Hargreaves felt compelled to intervene.

“Ok, people, let's settle this down shall we, and let DI Stark finish the briefing.”

Reluctantly, the room came to order again.

“I know this all sounds a bit nuts. Frankly, it is. You could argue that whoever is responsible for these attacks is motivated by a sense of public duty. However, the extreme nature of the punishments handed out for the misdemeanours being committed, suggests mental imbalance. It also makes them very dangerous. If there
is
more than one perpetrator, then this case might veer even further from the beaten track.

“DC Katz and I set up an incident room and an evidence wall to track what's going on. I'd like you all to familiarise yourselves with it and keep your eyes and ears open while you're on the street. Somebody will know this person or persons and, sooner or later, they'll make a mistake and we'll get them.”

A hand went up. Rob Kowalski, a good cop and a seasoned veteran, asked a good question.

“Do the press know about any of this?”

“Unfortunately, the bad guy or guys contacted Floyd Callahan at the Daily News and alerted him to their campaign. Me and Floyd go back a ways so, I asked him to lay off for now. But, you know journalists, they're under immense pressure to bring in big stories and this is a humdinger. I think we can safely expect the proverbial to hit the fan tomorrow.

“The problem is the public and the media will lap this shit up. The eye-for-an-eye brigade will love it, the liberals will be wringing their hands in angst over the rights and wrongs, and the TV and press will milk it for all it's worth. We can expect copycats and all the usual crap that goes with this kind of thing, so brace yourselves.”

He was right but my brain accelerated into overdrive trying to work out what the hell was going on. I couldn't worry too much about what the right wingers or liberals might think. This was seriously messed up. I only ever did what I did as a warning, a shot across the bows. I was no vigilante, at least, I never thought of myself that way. I certainly wasn't conducting some kind of moral crusade. What really unnerved me was not that someone else clearly was, but that this someone else was evidently a big fan of my work. There was another issue; potentially much more problematic. If this guy got caught, he might well cite us as his inspiration. Sure, what me and Garry did was far less extreme, but if all the shit we'd been up to came out, we could kiss goodbye to our jobs, pensions, houses...families. I needed to keep abreast of this investigation without drawing attention to the fact I was unnaturally interested in it. Not only that, it would be far better for me and Garry if we found this sick motherfucker before he got the chance to implicate and incriminate us.

19. Back in the Gang with a Bang

The gun felt reassuringly heavy in his hand. He turned it over and over, occasionally raising it and aiming into the mirror. In his mind's eye, a head rocked back, blood and brains showered the wall and his enemy folded like a Marionette whose strings were unexpectedly cut.

Looking in the mirror had become a painful experience for Dwayne. The scars were healing well enough, but he didn't have the money for decent dental work. As a consequence, the dentures he'd been fitted with were uncomfortable and irritating. So much so, that the pain drove him to remove them whenever he was in private. Without any teeth, his cheeks sagged inwards like those of a man four times his age. It made his speech laboured and indistinct and eating was a bit of a nightmare - this did not please him. These practical, physical difficulties were suffered in tandem with psychological issues. Dwayne became afraid of the dark, took to sleeping with a night light on. He never walked alone across the park any more and, whenever anyone crept up on his blind side, he found himself totally over-reacting.

When Dwayne got back from hospital he received a visit from some cops asking what happened, pretending they gave a shit; said they'd go after the twisted freak who did this to him...but he knew better. Dwayne amounted to less than nothing as far as they were concerned. Young, black, poor and all too familiar with the inside of their cells, and all too prone to be vocal in his displeasure at being incarcerated. No cop was going to help Dwayne get even. He'd be doing that himself.

His friends were shocked by what happened, offering to track the guy down and fuck him up. Dwayne was grateful for their support but that task was his. Just to be on the safe side, he enlisted the help of his best friend Lamar Stokes. They grew up together and Lamar was the only person in the world Dwayne trusted as much as his mother.

There was one major flaw in his plan though. Dwayne had no idea who his attacker was. In the toilet at the shopping centre, the guy made no attempt to hide his face, but in the park, he never saw him coming. In fact, he had no recollection of his abduction or mutilation whatsoever. Walking through the park one minute, the next, waking up in a hospital bed without any teeth. What angered Dwayne most was the trivial reason for these attacks. Spitting gum into a urinal for fuck's sake. He'd done some pretty bad things in his time - things which may well have merited some form of retribution from his victim - but
spitting out chewing gum in the wrong place
! It made no sense at all.

Dwayne only had one lead to go on - the shopping centre. He decided to stake the place out; maybe, just maybe, the piece of shit would turn up there and he would get his revenge. With no job and no effective parental control to interfere with his plans, he could afford to wait as long as it took.

It took about ten days. Luckily for him, the toilets had a bench outside; sufficiently far away from the entrance to avoid attracting unwanted attention but close enough to afford him a good view of the patrons. It's a tricky balance to strike conducting surveillance outside a public convenience. Staring too intently at the patrons might have provoked either of two unwanted reactions - sexual arousal or violent objection.

Dwayne almost missed the dude. Returning from buying a burger and coke, sipping through the straw that speared the lid on his enormous paper cup, he caught a glimpse of him as he went in. Even from behind Dwayne knew it was his man. The gait, the build, the get-up. Well, this time it would be Dwayne Clements who held the advantage of surprise and that huge motherfucker with the chewing gum issues was going to regret ever crossing him.

He dumped the remnants of the food and drink next to the bench, then he and Lamar crossed the concourse with purpose. Dwayne patted the small of his back, checking the gun was still there, even though he could feel the hard metal against his skin. He and Lamar had rehearsed what they were going to to do. Lamar would stand guard while Dwayne went in and capped the guy. Quick, easy, no messing, and then they'd be out of there. Lamar parked his motorbike close to the nearest exit and so, before anyone had time to react, they'd be gone.

Dwayne pushed at the door, looked up the length of the toilet. One guy using the urinals shook and zipped up. Dwayne gestured to him to get the fuck out of there. The guy was more of a boy and ill-equipped to forcefully object, so he did as he was told. Lamar, a giant of a man, with a string of convictions to his name, was more than capable of deterring any further intrusions.

Dwayne eased into the toilet, pulling the gun from his waistband as he did so. Sweat trickled down the small of his back, the gun damp, warm to the touch. For all the bravado he'd shown Lamar in the run up to this moment, he'd never even fired a gun, never mind killed anyone with one. This bastard deserved what was coming to him, but it didn't make Dwayne any less nervous.

He edged along, looking for a stall in use. The third in a row of six was the only one showing red on its lock. Dwayne took a deep breath. He could hear his quarry taking a dump. In normal circumstances, he wouldn't have taken any pleasure in listening to another man crapping. However, it cheered him to think what a humiliating way it was to go -  more humiliating than having your teeth pulled out and being left to look like your granddaddy's best friend.