The Payback (29 page)

Sitting up in bed, I took a deep breath, allowing the wave of sadness to wash over me, before forcing myself back to the present. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was almost ten o’clock. Ironically, given everything that had happened, I’d slept a hell of a lot better than I’d done in a long time.

Tina was nowhere to be seen and I wondered if she regretted what we’d done. I hoped not. Although I’d felt guilty about sleeping with her afterwards, as I did when I slept with anyone other than Emma, it had still been an intense and emotional experience, and it struck me that in other circumstances, Tina was the kind of woman who could have dragged me out of the darkness, allowing me to put the past where it belonged – in the past.

But that wasn’t going to happen. I was going to have to abandon her, just as I’d abandoned Emma. She was the one with the future, which meant she had to go home to England. It was up to me to finish things here.

I drank some water and showered in the tiny windowless bathroom, and was just getting dressed when the door to the room opened and Tina came back in. She had a newspaper under her arm and her expression was grim.

I started to ask her if everything was OK, but she threw the paper on the bed, with the headline facing upwards, and I knew
straight away that whatever it was going to say was bad. ‘Murdered Reporter’s Wife Gunned Down with Brother’ it screamed. I picked up the paper and unfolded it, which was when I saw the sub-heading beneath, ‘International Fugitive Sought’, and the three-inch-by-three-inch colour photo of me next to it. From the shirt I was wearing I could tell that it had been taken three days earlier on Bertie Schagel’s yacht in Hong Kong.

So the bastard had sold me out.

It was to be expected, of course, but even so, the fact that I was front-page news still came as a shock.

I read the rest of the article. Not surprisingly, given O’Riordan’s position on the paper, it was their lead story, continuing on pages two and three. No motive was given for either of the killings, but then there was no immediate need for one. The police already had their suspect. There was a short background piece on me, concentrating on the fact that I’d fled the UK at the end of 2001, after allegedly committing a series of murders, and hadn’t been seen since. I was described by Manila police chief Ricardo Gutierrez as armed and extremely dangerous, and he was quoted as having warned his officers to shoot me on sight unless I surrendered immediately. Which basically meant they were going to shoot me on sight regardless, something that would suit Bertie Schagel perfectly. There was nothing about the deaths of the two police officers the previous night, but it had probably happened too late to make the early editions. Thankfully, there was also no mention anywhere of Tina.

‘What are you going to do?’ she asked me.

I sighed. There were enough ex-pats in Manila that I wouldn’t stand out like a sore thumb, but it was no Bangkok or Hong Kong, and I reckoned I had a maximum of twenty-four hours before the law caught up with me.

I could have run, I suppose. Made for the coast and one of the Philippines’ seven thousand islands, disappearing from view until all the furore had died down. After all, I’d done it before. Except this time I had no money, and my crimes had been committed here, not in a country six thousand miles away. In reality, I’d reached the end of a long and bloody road. There’d be no retirement in the hills of Laos, no reunion with Emma and our child. But no prison either. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – let them take me alive. The idea of spending the rest of my life behind bars was simply too much. All I could do now was try to redeem myself in the short time I had left.

‘I’m going to do what I said I’d do,’ I told her. ‘I’m going to find Heed, and Paul Wise, and everyone else involved in this, and I’m going to kill them.’

‘They’re going to get you eventually, Dennis. You know that, don’t you?’ She looked genuinely upset as she said this. Which was something, I suppose.

‘I know,’ I said, thinking how slight she looked, standing at the end of the bed like a blonde Audrey Hepburn, the sunlight from the window making her pale skin glow. I really didn’t want to leave her here, but I knew I had to. ‘That’s why you can’t come with me. At the moment, the police aren’t looking for you. You can go to the airport, change your flight, and get the hell out of this place. Stay with me and at best you end up behind bars in some shitty Filipino prison for aiding and abetting a fugitive. And at worst you die. I can’t let that happen to you.’

But my plea was already falling on deaf ears, because Tina wasn’t listening. At least not to me. Instead, she had her ear pressed against the door.

‘There are people coming,’ she whispered.

And then I heard it. The sound of heavy footfalls coming up the stairs.

Tina opened the door a crack, before shutting it immediately and putting the chain across. ‘It’s the police. They’re here.’

I cursed. ‘OK, they’re going to come in shooting, so get under the bed. Then, when it’s all stopped, reach out with your warrant card in your hand and identify yourself as a police officer. I’ve got to go.’

Grabbing the gun and speedloaders from the bedside table, I vaulted over the bed and made for the open window. We were on the second floor and it was a good twenty-foot drop to an alleyway below. The alleyway was empty but there were some overflowing sacks of rubbish piled up on the other side which would break my fall if I could reach them.

Behind me, I could hear movement outside the door. Hoping that Tina would take my advice, I clambered up on to the ledge, shoved the gun into the back of my jeans, and leapt into the open air, legs flailing, heart flying up into my chest.

I landed feet first in a sack of rubbish, bounced back out of it, and threw out my hands to lessen the impact as I was propelled into the wall. After rolling over through a load of foul-smelling detritus and old food, which was now spilling out on to the ground, I got to my feet, feeling a dull pain in my ankles but otherwise largely unhurt.

A split second later there was a crash, and I turned round to see Tina land in exactly the same pile of rubbish, except she managed it with a hell of a lot more grace, and did this kind of parachutist’s roll before jumping back up again.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I demanded as I set off up the alleyway at a run. ‘I thought I said stay behind.’

‘Sorry, Dennis, I don’t take orders from anybody,’ she said, appearing at my side. ‘We’re in this together, remember?’

And, call me selfish, but I couldn’t help it. I was pleased.

The Juicy Peach, the club where Tomboy told me he’d delivered the briefcase, was on a quiet dead-end backstreet just off United Nations Avenue. The frontage was narrow and painted black, with a small unlit neon sign above the locked front door, next to a video camera covering the entrance, and it was sandwiched between a dress shop and a motorcycle repair garage, both of which looked closed.

We’d made the journey over on foot, both of us having decided that driving round in a bullet-ridden rental car would probably attract the wrong sort of attention. It had taken over an hour, with me wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses that Tina had bought for me at a street stall, and we were both hot and sweaty by the time we stopped outside the door, grateful to be in the shade at last. A sign said that the club opened at four p.m. It was now 11.30, but I was keeping my fingers crossed that the man Tomboy had delivered the briefcase to, Heed, was in residence.

There were two new-looking locks on the door, and I turned to Tina. ‘Think you can get through these?’

‘Easily,’ she said, taking the set of picks from the pocket of her shorts.

True to her word, she had the door open in the space of two minutes. During that time the street remained empty, and I was even confident enough to slip the gun out of the waistband of my jeans as we stepped inside. Tina shut the door behind us, re-locking it.

We were in a small, deserted foyer with an empty coat and gun check-in counter to our left, and a flight of steps straight ahead that corkscrewed down into the silent darkness below.

‘I’ll lead the way,’ I whispered. ‘I want you to stay back.’

She shot me an annoyed look. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself, thanks.’

I put a hand on her arm. ‘Listen, Tina, I know you’re no pushover, but right now there’s no point you taking unnecessary risks. I’ve got the gun, and Heed may be armed.’

I started down the steps, gun outstretched in front of me, thinking that if I had to go to work on Heed to find the answers I needed, I really didn’t want her to see it.

As we reached the bottom, the staircase opened out into a large, cavernous room with a bar directly in front of us, and beyond that a central stage with a dancing pole on either end. The bar was lit up, bathing the room in a dim glow, but all the chairs were stacked on tables and nothing moved.

Tomboy had said Heed lived in the basement, so we crept carefully across the floor of the club until I spotted a door at the end, behind one of the tables, marked Staff Only. There was no handle on the door, just a keypad. A camera pointed down from the ceiling.

I listened at the door, then turned to Tina. ‘Do you think you can get in?’ I whispered, conscious that I was right in the path of the camera.

She ran a finger up and down the doorframe and shook her head. ‘There’s nothing to pick. This door’s brand new and the system looks high-tech. We’re only getting in there if he wants us in.’

I stepped back out of range of the camera, gesturing for Tina to do the same. ‘Then we’re just going to have to wait for him to come out. The place opens at four so he’s going to have to appear before then.’

We crouched down behind the table facing the door, using the chairs on top of it as a screen, and waited in silence. As a cop and an ex-cop, we were used to hanging around, having to be patient. On the static surveillance ops that I’d done as a detective in Islington CID, I used to go into an almost trance-like state – the kind I guess people who practise yoga go into – and I did that now, ridding my mind of all the many problems assailing it, and slowing down my breathing so I was in a state of near-relaxation.

Half an hour passed, then an hour, and I was on the verge of dozing off when I heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs behind us. Nudging Tina, I moved round the table so we couldn’t be seen, and watched as a slightly built middle-aged Filipino dressed in a shirt and tie came into view. He lifted a flap and went behind the bar, lighting a cigarette as he opened the till, before crouching down out of sight.

Indicating for Tina to stay where she was, I crept between the tables, getting closer and closer as the barman stood back up and began filling the till.

When I was about ten yards away, I came out from behind one of the tables and strode towards him, holding the gun out in front of me. ‘Hands in the air now. Shout out and you’re dead.’

He did exactly as he was told, but eyed me carefully as I approached. ‘You’re messing with the wrong people if you’re planning on robbing this place,’ he said.

I stopped in front of him. ‘I want to speak to your boss, but I’ve got a feeling he doesn’t want to talk to me, so you’re going to buzz down to him and tell him that there’s a problem with the till. Then you’re going to ask him to come up here. Because if you don’t, I will kill you. Do you understand? If you don’t believe me, have a look at the front of that.’ I motioned towards the paper on the bar in front of him. ‘That’s me.’

He looked down. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’

‘So, you know I mean what I say.’

‘How do I know you won’t kill me anyway?’

‘Because I’m not that kind of man.’ I ushered him out with the gun. ‘Now, move. And make sure you speak loudly enough so I can hear what you’re saying. If I think for one moment you’re trying to warn Heed about me, you’re dead. And I promise you he’s not worth dying for.’

I pushed him with the gun barrel and followed five yards behind as the barman walked the length of the club, hoping that Heed wasn’t watching through any of the security cameras that lined the walls. Tomboy had said he was a dangerous man, which meant the element of surprise was essential.

Joining Tina behind the table, I pointed the gun through the chair legs in the direction of the door. The barman glanced back in my direction as he stopped in front of it, saw that I was training my weapon on him, and punched a set of numbers into the keypad.

A few moments later, a muffled voice came over the intercom, and the barman introduced himself and spun the yarn I’d given him about the broken till. He sounded convincing enough, and when he was done, he turned my way. ‘He’s coming up,’ he said quietly.

‘Step away from the door,’ I hissed back, and again he did as instructed.

I took a deep breath, and my finger tensed on the trigger a few seconds later as the door was pulled open and an unpleasant-looking western man walked slowly out, wearing the kind of look that makes children cry.

Even from five yards away I experienced a welling up of revulsion. There was something about him, an aura, that hinted at sickness and death. His parched, flabby skin was an unhealthy shade of yellow, and looked as if it would disintegrate if it were ever exposed to the light of the sun. He was wearing an ancient purple lounge suit and an old discoloured white shirt, and he looked like a walking corpse. He could have been fifty. He could have been eighty. It was very difficult to tell.