Tick Tick Tick (26 page)

I see the mangled body of Tim Fash lying there and I feel nothing. No satisfaction, no pleasure, no relief… absolutely nothing. This bastard might have just killed my best friend, and how I wish he’d lived, so that I could put a gun to his head, any gun, and so very slowly, like time ticking towards the grim reaper, I would simply squeeze the trigger and kill him in cold blood.
Oh, if only
.

Fash lies face up; the gunshot wound is in the centre of his head – not a bad shot from a man that was dying. Good old Mack. His neck juts out at an awkward angle, it’s obviously broken. The eyes stare vacantly at me as the smell of oil and dust fills my nostrils; he’s hauled out of the bottom of the shaft. His clothes are covered in grime, the back of his head matted with blood and dirt, his brains protruding out the back of his skull.

‘Get that covered up, call for the bus and get his arse out of here.’ I yell at the nearest copper.

My hands are trembling, I know they are, then I realise it’s my whole body – delayed shock. Not for Fash, no… for Mack. I know I have to be the one to tell Betty that Mack had taken the bullets and paid the price. I know that the paramedics would not give up on him without a fight, but I have to be honest; I don’t think they can bring him back and I don’t want some unknown face giving her the news. It has to be me, but Jesus Christ I really don’t want to do it.

I drive the car out of town and head slowly over to Betty’s; the engine is sluggish, tired, it needed an overhaul – a bit like me. I’d called the hospital; Mack is in the resuscitation unit but they’d refused to give me any more information, and I know of old that that is not a good sign.
Pray, goddamn it, pray
– and I do, I pray again.

Sliding down the window as I near the land of suburbia, the air is clean, fresh, like a little piece of Mother Nature had been picked up from the countryside and dropped just outside of the city boundaries.

I need the air to breathe, to calm my nerves. I’m dreading this; for years we had thought about this scenario, neither Mack nor I had ever actually talked about it, but I know for sure that he’d want me to be the one to break the news. Sure, we’d had run-ins before, but neither of us have ever taken a bullet, and this time Mack has taken too damn many.

I pull into the driveway and Betty peers through the window, probably thinking it’s Mack. She slowly opens the front door and just stares right through me, looking for Mack’s car. I can hear birds singing in the background and the sound of children laughing and giggling, but as I climb out of the car and look her straight in the face, her eyes widen and the dishcloth she’s holding drops to the floor as her left hand flies to her mouth in disbelief.
I don’t need to say a word.

I drive Betty to the hospital in silence; I’m not allowed in, relatives only, so I leave Betty alone in that cold forlorn room, where no doubt countless others had sat nervously waiting to hear the news of the ones they loved. Live or die? Endless grief or happiness?

I climb back into the car and just sit there, tears streaming down my face. I can’t face the prospect of life without my big bear of a friend. I sob like a child who’s lost his mother, the sheer overwhelming grief ripping through me.
Come on Mack
, I think,
fight all the way back
.

I don’t care who sees me. People glance through the window, but all I can do is screw up my eyes, shutting out the world and all of its debilitating venom. When did the world change? When did good coppers start dying at the hands of sadists, serial killers and teenage kids with bursting acne? And for the sake of what? For the killers to find eternal fame and glory by the hands of a blazing gun, is that what modern day culture was all about now? I’m not a hugely religious man, but I think of the Ten Commandments, and one sticks in my mind like a waterfall in full flight –
Thou shall not kill.

I must have sat there for two hours, staring into space, replaying the scenes in my head over and over; what if I’d got out of that flat first? It would’ve been me that had gone after Fash, me in that lift. Why did Mack go first, and Jesus, why did he pick up the gun? I know why… he thought Fash was going to get away and kill more He probably thought of Junior, but most of all I know he would have thought of me, of us sitting there like targets, and he had made his choice. I don’t blame him for it, I just wish he hadn’t made that choice. Fury, rage and grief well up like an inferno pulsating through every heartbeat, every nerve tingling with dread and desperation.

My pager bleeps into my unconscious, a message from the hospital. Rather than run in through the doors to help Betty, to be there for her, I selfishly want to hear the news on my own – I
need
to hear it on my own.

I flick open my mobile phone and make the call. I don’t want anyone else’s grief or elation around me when I get the news; I need time for just me and Mack. Dear God, let it be good news.

CHAPTER 29

As I wander back into the squad room, I can see our desks; Mack’s is overflowing to the brim with empty sweet wrappers, a few leftover rotting sandwiches, numerous discarded paper coffee cups and empty coke cans. I tip it into the bin, for once not minding the overbearing stench of mould.  His desk is stacked with paperwork in no particular semblance of order and three unopened cigarette packets have pride of place stuck in the middle.  Nope, right now I don’t mind it at all. Wendy comes up to me with a fresh coffee and pushes it into my hand, the warmth seeping through me as if nothing else can ease the numbness and shock.

‘Good news about Mack, huh?’ she smiles, and lightly touches my shoulder.

‘You’re telling me girl,’ I reply, a smile the size of the city on my face. Mack had pulled through. Against all the odds, the great son of a bitch had made it, and I couldn’t be happier. Hell, I even feel like going out to buy him a carton of cigarettes and sticking them on his desk – the old man can smoke all day in my face now, for the rest of his damn life, and I will not complain. Oh yes, the whole damn day just got a new lease of life, and frankly so have I.

I suddenly realise that the squad room is now packed. As I turn around, a rousing cheer ripples through the room, then the sound of clapping, starting slow and steady and finishing with a lot of whooping, cheering and foot stamping. Superintendent Grimes barges his way through and actually thumps me on the shoulder, in what I think is a congratulatory pat, although it hurts like hell.

‘Well done everyone, we nailed the bastard.’ The room cheers, relief starting to spread around like a warm blanket encasing us, comforting us at last.

Grimes flicks one of his usual smirks that looks more like a grimace. ‘Though it sure would’ve been nice to see him go down,’

‘He did, right down to the concrete floor,’ laughs Davies; for once even I enjoy his joke.

‘All I’m saying is that it would’ve been nice to have put the arsehole behind bars, but hell… it saves the government time and money, so who gives a damn?’ He laughs.

‘His flat is being hauled over by forensics, no trophies as yet, but no doubt he’s got a secret place somewhere in the city. It’s only a matter of time. There were enough drugs and weapons to form his own army, so ballistics are checking them out, see if we can get a match on the bullet from Stacey Bun.’

As he gets up to leave, he stops at my desk where I’m trying now to keep out of the way. I’m not one for attention. Well, not all the time.

‘You going to see Mack?’ asks Grimes.

I give him the nod. ‘Soon as I’ve finished up here.’

‘Tell him nice work, but next time… wait for backup and don’t ever pick up another gun.’ He starts walking then stops and turns.

‘You know, you and your girlfriend figuring out most of the riddles and names, it was good work. Somehow it seems as though you’ve got one hell of a smart girl there. Do me a favour, why don’t you marry her so she can come and work for us?’

‘I might just do that.’ I reply, and can feel my face flushing; Grimes never talks personal issues with us – never. What’s the world coming too?

I creep into the hospital; visiting times are over, but I flash my card and get let in by a pretty nurse with long lean legs and a cute smile – the rest is not too bad either. She directs me to Mack’s room. I pass others patients who sleep peacefully, the smell of disinfectant is pungent and the floors are gleaming with their fresh coat of polish. I can hear the hum of machines assisting the living on their journey to recovery.

I stop at Mack’s door and peer through the glass window. It looks like he’s sleeping. I push open the doors anyway, needing to see him, to actually physically hear him breathe. He’s virtually enclosed by an assortment of monitors; three drips are steadily replacing blood and fluids while a heart machine keeps a close eye on him. God bless modern science.

I pull up a chair and look at him; he’s not so grey now, though still pale due to the blood that he’s lost. His breathing is warm, rhythmic and steady, and it reassures me. I can’t help but lay my hand on his, knowing how close I came to losing him. I can feel the sobs forming in the back of my throat at what could have been. He flicks open his eyes and nearly gives me a heart attack.

‘Hey don’t go sobbin’ on me… I’m not dying you know.’ The voice has more force to it than I expect.

‘I know, but you came a bit too close for my liking. What in hell were you thinking of?’ I smile at him, not angry in the slightest.

‘Me? You’re the one who did the John Wayne and went storming in. I had to cover your silly arse.’ A flicker of a smile whispers across his face.

‘Backing me up’s one thing, throwing yourself in a lift with a complete madman with a ‘stolen’ gun is quite another,’ I admonish in my politest tone, but with a faint trace of sarcasm.

He leans his head back and laughs. ‘Hey, I was pretty good for an old guy.’

‘You could’ve been killed.’ This time there’s no sarcasm – not an ounce.

‘Well you’re always moaning about how you need a younger partner.’

‘Oh yes, and Betty would’ve just loved me for that one. Hell, that would’ve been the end of my Sunday roasts and football games with Garrett. Remember, I haven’t got any grandkids of my own to play with, so I have to borrow yours.’ I try to keep it light.

Mack smiles. ‘Then you should marry the girlfriend.’

‘So everyone suddenly keeps telling me.’ I pull the chair a little closer. ‘So listen, how’d you manage to get him anyway?’ I reckon I should give him his moment of glory after all he’s been through.

‘The tosser had got out of the lift and was on its roof, almost standing on top of me. I laced the roof, and as you can see, he shot back.’ He glances towards his multiple wounds.

‘Uh huh.’

‘Then it went pretty quiet, I was bleeding like a stuck pig. I heard him move on top. He pushed his face through the opening, he obviously thought I’d bought it, so then I just capped him clean through the head.’ His face relaxes as he relives his moment of brilliance.

I ponder on this a moment, trying to visualise the scene. ‘So then how come the lift ended up on top of him?’ I ask, trying to visualise the steps in my head.

He attempts to look innocent, but fails miserably. ‘I tried to open the doors – guess I must have hit the wrong button.’

‘You’re either one smart or one very lucky copper.’ I shake my head at him, still not sure of the correct answer.

‘Hey, I got him didn’t I? He moans.

‘That you did old man… that you did.’ We both lock eyes; we know how close it was. ‘Grimes says he’ll be able to cover you for the… acquiring of the gun.’ Mack smiles and nods.

The door opens and a stiff-looking matron in an over-starched outfit, with a severe haircut and a whisper of a moustache, glowers directly at me.

‘I think you’ve disturbed my patient long enough, Mr Downey.’ I can hear Mack snort in the background.

‘Just going, ma’am,’ I reply with a straight face.

‘Yes, you are,’ she says, holding the door open for me. I lean over to Mack. ‘Hey, I don’t know what you’re laughing at… that’s your wet dream for tonight.’ His mouth gapes open. I blow him a kiss goodnight.

I drive the Alfa home to the flat. Cruising along the streets I watch the faces of passers-by. Will calm reign once again? Tim Fash, the latest serial killer of Manchester, is now dead. I wonder what makes a serial killer; usually it’s a dysfunctional family, a child with a history of killing animals, cruelty and often abuse. I don’t know all about his youth, but yes, I had known his history of torture and death for some of his so-called drug friends. When he lost all his money, did he lose his mind as well? What was it that clicked, turning a man, no matter how deranged, into one of the world’s worst killers?

I’m desperately relieved about Mack. The old son of a bitch is like a brother to me; we looked after each other for years with no questions asked and no expectations, we just did it. I remember after the spree killing, where I’d failed to save the lives of five innocent young children, he shrouded me in a cloak of comfort, sat with me while my nightmares raged, consuming my soul, night after night, week upon week. He ensconced me in his home, battling with me, comforting and cajoling me, until I was ready once more to take on the world again, forever reminding me that there were no certainties in this life – only in whisky, and I think I drank the whole goddamn city dry at that time.