Almost Eden, page 41
‘Better than an air rifle,’ I commended, not sure if I wanted Sophie to take possession of it.
A full thirty minutes later Robby scaled the far wall, checking the road as he crossed it, and joined me. ‘Deep enough, keep the birds off. Put some stones on top.’
‘Thank you, and thanks for … well, defending us like that.’
‘I ain’t having folk take our stuff.’
‘No, we … we may need it all.’
With a glance back over my shoulder at the blood on the road, I returned to the house, Ben now showing Sophie the pistol. Problem was, she could barely pull the slide back to cock it.
‘Ben,’ I firmly instructed. ‘You … keep that for now. If there was any trouble … then you can load it and hand it to Sophie. But with just four bullets … I suggest we keep it in the house ready, it would not be much use being fired across the fields.’
‘Those men…’ Sophie began.
‘Met Robby head on,’ I cut in with a stern look. ‘And if they hadn’t, they would have met me head on, then Ben. Don’t … don’t let it get to you.’
Drama over, we returned to the mundane, Ben painting the inside of the improvised water tank with concrete paint, several coats. It would be followed with several coats of white gloss paint. In the meantime, he was making a small hole in the ceiling of the main bathroom, just an inch across, and I was wondering just how he would get the darn contraption to work.
But stood at the jetty, my mind was on those men, and the weapon they carried. Danger was creeping closer to the front door, and I feared greatly for Ben and Sophie. Having them here I could help them, sure now that being here was better for them than being in a city right now. But I was reminded every day of how much I loved them, and if something happened here…
A military helicopter caught my attention, its sound and its size, as the grey craft glided by down the estuary, heading towards Plymouth. Only then did I think of how quiet the skies had been of late, not something I generally thought of each day. Peering up, I could not see any con trails arcing across the blue sky. No tourists were off to Barbados today.
In some ways it was nice to see the helicopter flying past, since the military were obviously active, and to be active they would need to be coordinated, fuelled and fed. Somewhere out there was a functioning government – of sorts.
When Ben called me up to the attic I found that he had loosened tiles on the side of the house facing the slope. With a nudge from Ben, I thrust my head through, suddenly afforded a complete view of the estate, Robby seen working in the fields.
Easing my head in, I said, ‘Yes, an excellent viewpoint – if you happen to be up here and looking out.’ I waited.
‘If I get a chair up here, then being on guard up here is better than the kitchen.’ He held his hands wide. ‘Dad, some fucker could take all the potatoes - and we’d never know!’
‘Well, there is that, yes.’
Endgame
Marcus made contact that evening, by CB radio, and asked about a few specific supplies – in return for a day’s labour pro rata. We struck a deal, and his beaten up old green Land Rover arrived around 9am the next morning, his mate with him. I handed him fuel, having first convinced Robby of the merits of the deal, a pop bottle full of red diesel.
Marcus set out, his tank now benefiting from a few additional litres, and returned with the rear of his vehicle loaded high with barbed wire – one careless owner. Gloves on, Robby directed Marcus and his buddy, barbed wire run from gate to gate in the potato fields. It would make scaling the small wall more difficult, and anyone attempting to hop over the wall of a dark night would entangle themselves and receive a few nasty cuts – hopefully enough of a deterrent.
When Sophie called out, I was directed via a pointed finger to the estuary. There, in the distance, and just clearing the headland, came a majestic sailboat, the craft a good thirty foot nose to stern, its sails up and now being filled by a modest south-westerly breeze. It turned in a tight circle and headed back to deeper water, the tide now coming in, the estuary not deep enough for its keel obviously.
It returned ten minutes later, and again spun around as best it could in the wind, and I thought I might have seen someone on the headland. With my shotgun over my shoulder, cartridges in my pocket, I left the lads working and ventured along the coastal path, and across the sand. The day was hot, the sky clear, the breeze off the sea refreshing as I neared the headland.
Without glimpsing anyone, I edged up the overgrown track that led to the supposed coastal path, knowing that it was badly overgrown. But nearing the section that I had previously inspected – and had found to be impassable, it was clearly now passable. I eased my shotgun over my shoulder, and slowly loaded it as my eyes scanned the trees and bushes.
‘Roger!’
It had come from the trees up the headland.
‘Roger, we’re coming in, don’t shoot anyone.’
I knew the voice: Allison, from Special Branch. But … what the hell was he doing here? Then, in a white t-shirt, stepped a man with a three week old beard, Allison following behind, a pistol in the man’s back. They edged through the trees and thick bushes towards me.
As they neared, my heart racing, I could now see that the prisoner was my snake of a solicitor, Coltrane. Speechless, I stood watching them approach.
Allison smiled. ‘Nice day for it.’
‘What … what are you doing down here?’
‘We found the gold.’
‘You found it?’ I puzzled.
‘Our good friend here killed Clinton and his wife, found the gold. When the military got wind I came down.’ They halted. ‘The government desperately needs the gold, especially now.’
‘Where … what are you doing on the headland then? Is the gold around the the headland?’
‘Yes, it’s on Clinton’s land, as we thought,’ Allison informed me, wiping his brow with a sleeve. ‘Army is up there now. I had a look around, found this shitbag living rough back there and hiding from us.’
I was lost for words, and just stared at them, Coltrane remaining tight lipped. But he did indeed look like he had been sleeping rough. For that matter, so did Allison.
‘Got a vehicle I can use, and some rope?’ Allison asked.
‘Uh … yes, of course. Come on in and I’ll … er … get the kettle on.’
Allison nudged Coltrane forwards, a pistol to his back. ‘You have electricity? Oh, the wind turbines, I’d forgotten.’ He made eye contact. ‘Got milk and sugar?’
I forced a false smile. Allison was now past me, the pistol aimed at Coltrane’s back, and as I turned I had the angle I had wanted – and had hoped for. I lifted the barrels of my shotgun just a few inches, closed my eyes, and blasted Allison in the stomach at point blank range.
He had bent double, and as I opened my eyes he flew back into the bushes. But – like an amateur - I had fired both barrels, not having meant to. The pistol dropped to the floor, and it was in Coltrane’s hand before I could react. He stood panting, staring at me with wild eyes, alternating to the slumped and gurgling form of Allison - and back to me. At least ten seconds passed as Coltrane just held the pistol level at me.
‘Why?’ he rasped.
I heaved a breath, wondering if I would die here, on this overgrown track. From the corner of my eye I could see people running, wondering if Coltrane would remain facing me long enough. It seemed unlikely, he had but to turn his head.
‘Why?’ I repeated, playing for time. ‘You know why. Because he was after the gold all along, and he killed Mason and his mate.’
‘How the fuck would you know that?’ Coltrane snarled at me.
I forced myself calmer, considering my options, and playing for time. ‘When Mister Allison came here, he sometimes joined me fishing, no shoulder holster or pistol visible – he took his jacket off. But on the day Mason died, Allison was here at night, creeping around, loaded pistol. I think, and you can correct me if I’m wrong, that Allison had intercepted Mason’s desire to come and nudge me off this land – hurt or otherwise.
‘Allison wanted me here, to help find the gold, because he knew that the very first thing I would do … would be to call him – and only him. And you, you never found the gold, did you?’
Coltrane cracked half a smile, almost a snarl, and shook his head.
‘And the Army is not up the road, they have better things to do. You and Allison joined forces, if you weren’t always working together. Get the gold, sail away somewhere nice, huh.’ I thumbed over my shoulder. ‘That your boat circling ready?’
Coltrane frowned past me, obviously unaware of the sail boat. ‘Drop the shotgun.’
I did as asked, Coltrane waving me forwards. As I passed him, feeling that I was the least qualified man alive to grab that pistol off him, he caught site of Robby, Marcus and Ben. A hand grabbed my shoulder, the pistol thrust to the side of my head.
‘Tell them to back off!’ Coltrane ordered in a strong whisper.
I raised my hands towards Robby. ‘Don’t come any closer! He has a pistol. Ben, back up. Go on.’
Ben was fifty yards away on the coastal path, Robby on the slope and thirty yards away, shotgun levelled, Marcus ten yards higher up the slope.
‘Tell them,’ Coltrane urged, the end of his pistol digging into my temple.
‘Robby!’ I loudly called. ‘Back-up ten yards. He … he just wants some tins of food.’
Whispering in my ear, his hot breath on skin, he said, ‘Good thinking, but I was thinking more along the lines of a car full of fuel, stacked high with tins – and cash.’
‘You can have all that, just … don’t shoot any of them. You can take me hostage when we go, they won’t shoot.’
‘You’re not such an old wanker, are you, Mister Bannister?’ He rudely nudged me forwards, and down the track, past high weeds and nettles and onto the sand.
Robby had backed up a little, Ben moving back to the house - and to Sophie hopefully. Marcus had also moved towards the house along with his mate.
‘And you … you’re not a very good example of a solicitor.’
‘Well, work dried up, what with dead bodies in the streets, banks not working, no food,’ he sarcastically stated. We passed the abandoned boat.
‘You were crooked before then, in bed with Mason, holiday cottages and planning permission.’
‘You should have been a detective.’
‘Funnily enough, that’s what the late Mister Allison said,’ I quipped.
In brilliant sunshine, I walked, rather was nudged, across the sand, and slowly we advanced on the house. And with each step I grew more fearful for Ben and Sophie, not for myself. They had air rifles, and they had the pistol – with four bullets, but would they give up everything to try and rescue me. I already knew the answer to that. If it came down to it, I would make a grab for the pistol, save letting Ben or Sophie get themselves hurt on my behalf.
‘Tell them to get the car keys.’
Considering my options, I shouted, ‘Ben, if you can hear me, get the car keys and throw them out.’
We suddenly stopped and I was spun around. ‘Tell the big lump to back off. Besides, I might get lucky and hit him from here.’
Talking loudly, I began, ‘Robby, please, step backwards or he will shoot me, and he can shoot you from this distance.’ Robby edged back a little, but not by much. ‘Robby, I am asking you to walk backwards, further than that. Don’t try anything. He will take my car, some tins, and go – no big deal. Go on, Robby, go back further.’
Robby slowly backed up, Coltrane easing his grip on me, and we moved sideways like a pair of mating grabs, and closer to the back door. Keys suddenly jangled on the path.
‘Pick them up.’
I bent down and picked up the keys, recognising my car key and fob. The key to my old apartment was still there, a bonus for Coltrane if he made it to London.
‘Who’s the idiot with the dreadlocks?’
‘Marcus, from the commune.’
‘Have him fetch tins, lots of tins, and stack them near the car. Go on.’
‘Marcus, can you go down to the cellar and get tins of meat, fill two bags, and place them by my car, please.’
I got a nudge. ‘And fuel,’ Coltrane added.
‘There are two large jerry cans full of diesel, side of the road, enough for … two full tanks,’ I explained.
‘That’ll get me where I’m going,’ came a satisfied voice.
We edged slowly towards the corner of the house, and along the wall towards the kitchen. At the window, Coltrane peered inside, not seeing anyone.
‘Who’s here altogether? You, son and daughter, Robby, the two raster bums. That it?’
I licked my dry lips, a glance up at Marcus’s buddy. ‘That’s it.’
‘Get inside.’
I dreaded entering the house, desperately hoping that Sophie and Ben had slipped out the front door and had run off. We moved into the cool interior, Max whining for some attention.
‘Sit down, hands on the table.’
I did as asked, Coltrane helping himself to a cold drink of water and savouring it. I found myself wondering if he had indeed been living rough and observing the estate with Allison. But for how long, and why would they even bother?
‘You … been hiding up the headland and watching this place?’ I risked, hoping that the chit chat would ease the tension.
‘What?’ he puzzled, as if irritated. ‘No, had better things to do.’ He waived the pistol. ‘I had stockpiled food as well, and I had solar panels.’
‘Had…?’
‘Place got raided when I was out. Too damn close to the main road, unlike this place.’
‘And … Mister Allison?’ I risked.
Marcus appeared, weighted down with ASDA bags.
‘Drop them near the car,’ Coltrane ordered, Marcus stepping out of the back door.
Coltrane took another sip. ‘Allison, he skipped London and went AWOL when things go messy up there, commandeered vehicles. Took a while to get here.’
‘And … that charade on the headland?’
‘Allison had a fucked-up notion of killing Robby, you and the others, living off your stash for a while.’
My heart skipped a beat, but I no longer harboured any doubts about having killed Allison.
Coltrane added, ‘We came over two days ago, saw the fence, the mesh on the windows, you lot with shotguns, figured it would be hard to storm the place with just the one pistol.’
Marcus appeared in the doorway.
‘Another load,’ Coltrane ordered, Marcus disappearing down into the cellar. Seeing tomatoes sat on the counter, Coltrane had at them as if he was starving.
‘I could boil you some potatoes if you like,’ I offered.
His look suggested that I was about to get shot, and that I should refrain from stupid comments. He kicked Max away. ‘Where’s the cash?’
‘Under my mattress.’
He stared at me, clearly angered.
‘No, it is,’ I insisted. ‘Some in the bedside drawer.’
Marcus carried two heavy bags through the kitchen, a look towards Coltrane that suggested Marcus would eat him alive if he could – and if given half the chance.
When Marcus returned, Coltrane told him, ‘Roger’s bedroom, cash under the mattress, some in a drawer.’
I told Marcus, ‘Top of the stairs, hard right, last room on the left. It’s OK, just bring it all.’
I could hear the footsteps on the stairs, and I thought I could hear a whispered conversation, hoping that Coltrane couldn’t. Fresh footsteps signalled the return of Marcus, bags in hand.
‘Open one,’ Coltrane ordered.
Marcus did as asked, wads of cash soon glimpsed.
‘Will that cash be of any use out there?’ I asked, but I genuinely wanted to know the answer.
‘It’s fair to say that inflation has spiked a bit above the government’s two percent target,’ Coltrane sarcastically stated. He waived Marcus out with the pistol.
When Marcus reappeared, stood outside the kitchen door and waiting, Coltrane said, ‘Wonder if your man Robby will try and stop me.’
In slow motion, he lifted the pistol and fired. A spurt of blood peppered the wall, Marcus falling backwards, hit in the base of the throat.
I was on my feet, the pistol soon in my face and at the end of a taut arm, leading to a face exhibiting pure hatred and anger. Slowly raising my hands, I edged towards the sink and peered through the window, seeing Marcus now lying with a hand to his throat, blood pumping as far as his waist. I turned away and closed my eyes.
‘Step to the door, and tell Robby to walk up to that gate, and to stay there – or you’re a dead man.’
Breathing heavily, I slowly righted myself, and as Coltrane moved back against the wall I moved into the bright sunshine. As I did so, Marcus let his hand drop, his head flopping to one side.
‘Robby!’ I loudly called, trying not to focus on Marcus.
His head appeared around the corner of the house, where he had been waiting ready to pounce.
‘Robby,’ I quietly repeated. ‘Go up to the gate in the fence, and make yourself visible, or he will … shoot me.’ Robby didn’t move. ‘Robby, please … do as I ask and this will be OK. Go up to the gate.’
With a reluctant snarl of a lip, Robby ran up the slope as best as he could with his bulk. When he reached the gate and turned about, I half-turned my head to Coltrane, who bent double to peer through the kitchen windows.
‘Now, you and I are going to walk to the car, nice and slow, and check on that fuel.’
Easing out of the kitchen door, a glance at Marcus, I figured I would probably be killed after loading the car. After all, why would he just drive off when he could have the satisfaction of shooting me? Having seen how callously he had killed Marcus, I was in no doubt about my chances and I made a plan to at least try and grab the pistol.
Glancing over my shoulder, I could see Robby at the gate, along with Marcus’s buddy, Coltrane now right behind me. My solicitor put a hand on my shoulder, and I realised that Robby could never get off a shot without hitting me, not with a shotgun.
