Deadhead, page 23
Garret tapped gently on the back. “Time to go,” he hissed. The doors opened and Jin, Malcolm and the remaining Yakuza looked out, eyes blinking as they adjusted to the change of light.
Before anyone could move, the doors of the hospital flew open and thirty armed men poured into the ambulance bay. At exactly the same time four doors on the side of the building opened spewing another two dozen soldiers onto the tarmac. Every person had their guns raised, fingers were on triggers. The weapons all pointed at the occupants of the ambulance.
Spencer, Garret, Lerns, Jin, Malcolm and the rest of the Yakuza all froze. They were severely outnumbered and outgunned.
The sea of armed men parted and a tall man in black clothing walked to the front.
The Undertaker raised his arms in a pose similar to Christ the Redeemer. “Welcome, my friends,” he rasped. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Chapter Twenty Four
Having made his grand entrance the Undertaker lowered his arms and stepped forward.
“Where’s the leader of the Yakuza?’ he asked.
Jin stepped out of the ambulance, several dozen rifles tracking his every move.
“Right here,” he said, his voice surprisingly steady.
“I’ve got you to thank for this,” the Undertaker continued, a twisted grin on his face. “The man you left alive at the boy’s house phoned me from hospital and told me what happened. Quite extraordinary really, he refused to let them take him into surgery until he made the call. You don’t see loyalty like that very often.”
The thin man stared intently at Jin.
“I guessed you’d use the ambulance for a surprise attack. It’s what I would have done in your place. Mind you, I would never have left the man alive. That’s the difference between us.”
The Undertaker looked away and scanned the rest of his prisoners. “Who else have we got here? A couple of kids…” He pointed to Spencer. “You must be the genius teen I keep hearing about. You and I are going to get to know each other extremely well. And where’s the zombie?”
As the Undertaker looked on Garret grabbed Lerns from behind, jammed his Glock into the man’s temple and pushed the big man forward, using his body as a shield. “Back off,” he shouted, “or I shoot the biker.”
Every gun in the ambulance bay snapped towards Garret and Lerns.
“Hold your fire,” commanded the thin man. “I don’t want him damaged - the zombie, not the biker.”
He studied Garret. “How odd. He seems to be functioning independently. We’ll someone’s got some explaining to do.” He motioned for his men to close in on the cop.
Before anyone could move Garret ducked his head behind Lerns’s massive shoulders. He whispered into to his hostage’s ear. “Grab my gun, I won’t shoot. Don’t argue just do it. It might keep you alive a bit longer.”
Lerns reached up and wrenched the pistol from Garret’s grasp. He stepped sideways and turned the gun back on the dead cop.
Garret raised his hands.
The Undertaker walked to the biker’s side and placed a skeletal hand on the barrel of the gun. He pushed firmly on the metal forcing the biker to lower the pistol.
“Nice work but don’t shoot, I have plans for him.” Lerns flicked the gun around and presented the pistol to the Undertaker, hand grip first. The thin man took the firearm and regarded the biker thoughtfully. “Interesting. I thought you’d gone over to their side.”
The biker shook his head. “Course not. The Jap got the drop on me that’s all. I’ve had a gun in my gut ever since, nothin I could do. I’ve been waiting for a chance to get free.”
“You shouldn’t have been caught in the first place,” snapped the Undertaker. “But because I’m in a good mood I won’t kill you on the spot. Who knows, you might still be useful.” He pointed to his troops. “Go join the others.”
Lerns bowed his head and did as he was told, not offering Garret a backwards glance.
As the biker walked away the Undertaker turned to Garret. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you again. How many times do I have to kill you?”
“I’m not sure,” said Garret, “but I reckon once would be enough to put an end to you. Why don’t we find out?”
The Undertaker laughed. “Tough words for a man with fifty rifles pointed at his head. You know what though, standing here with a gun in my hand has put me in a killing mood. So here’s a little demonstration to drive home the seriousness of your situation.” The thin man lifted the pistol and pointed it at his prisoners, moving it from man to man. “Who to shoot,” he mused. The gun went from Jin to Spencer to Malcolm to every one of the Yakuza warriors until finally resting on Endo. “You’ll do,” said the Undertaker as he pulled the trigger. The gun spat out a single bullet which slammed into Endo’s forehead, knocking the Japanese man off his feet and dropping him into a bloody pile on the ground.
Jin moved quickly to his friend’s side, checking for signs of life. One look was enough for him to know there would be none. The Yakuza leader rose and turned to the Undertaker. “You’ll pay for that,” he spat.
“Oh, I doubt it,” replied the thin man. He turned his back on his prisoners and returned to his troops. He barked a series of orders. “Search them, take their weapons.” He pointed to Spencer and Garret. “The kid and the zombie are coming with me. Put the rest in the secure unit and get rid of the corpse.”
As the soldiers moved towards them, Jin called to his rival. “This isn’t over. You don’t honestly think I wouldn’t have a back-up plan.”
The thin man held up an arm and halted his troops. They immediately stopped moving. He locked eyes with the Yakuza leader. “You are probably bluffing but no point taking any chances.” He searched out Gerard Toiless from amongst his men. The Undertaker’s torturer stood near the front.
“I’ve changed my mind. Gerard, take the Yakuza leader to the boiler room and find out if he’s lying.” The thin man’s eyes fell on Lerns. “You can help,” he said to the biker. “Do a good job and I might forgive you for getting captured.”
Toiless stepped forward and walked toward Jin, the biker just behind him. The Yakuza leader held out his arms to be searched. He stared defiantly at the Undertaker. “You can torture me as much as you like. I won’t tell you anything.”
“Probably not,” agreed the thin man. “But it’ll be fun trying.”
The Undertaker turned on his heels and walked back into the hospital, leaving his soldiers to carry out his orders.
• • •
Dek waited patiently in the Undertaker’s office for his boss to reappear. He hadn’t taken part in the capture of the Yakuza, preferring to keep out of the way. It wasn’t because he was afraid. He just felt his talents were better suited elsewhere. Dek considered himself more of a blade than a blunt instrument.
When the Undertaker returned fifteen minutes later he headed straight for his desk, not acknowledging Dek. The thin man slumped into his chair, his mood surprisingly subdued. Dek was used to his boss’s temperamental behaviour. His unpredictability was one of the things that made him most dangerous but after such a comprehensive victory Dek expected at least a smile.
He watched as his employer tapped his index finger repeatedly on the desktop, like the beak of a demented woodpecker.
“Something’s not right,” the thin man muttered.
Dek knew better than to speak. If the Undertaker wanted his opinion he would ask for it. The boy wondered if he should leave the room and began moving quietly for the door.
The Undertaker glanced towards him, as if noticing him for the first time. “Stay,” he commanded.
Dek stood still.
“The Yakuza leader took his capture too well,” his boss said. Dek knew the man didn’t expect a response. The Undertaker was simply thinking aloud and it seemed to help if someone else was in the room.
“What’s he up to?” the thin man carried on, finger still beating an incessant rhythm on the wood.
Dek watched as his boss pulled a hand-held radio telephone from his belt and pushed the transmit button. He spoke quickly into the mouthpiece.
“Front gate from Base. Anything happening out there?”
Dek could hear the crackled response.
“Nothing to report, Sir.”
The Undertaker tried his rooftop troops next. “Roof from Base, come in.”
There was no reply. The Undertaker pressed the button again. “Roof from Base, respond.”
Still nothing. Dek saw a frown begin at the thin man’s mouth and watched as it grew until it covered his entire face.
He broke the silence. “Their radios could be out. It’s happened before.”
“Maybe,” said the Undertaker. He stopped tapping on the desk and began to worry a thread on the sleeve of his black jacket. “But unlikely.” He pressed the talk button on his RT again. “Guardroom from Base.”
A deep voice replied. Dek recognised it as belonging to Alastair Box, the commander of the Undertaker’s troops. “Guardhouse.”
“Mobilise,” ordered the Undertaker in a clipped voice. “I want every available man in position on the perimeter and send a squad to the roof.”
There was a slight pause at the other end. “What about the prisoners?” came the hesitant reply.
“They should be locked up by now. Leave Toiless and Lerns on interrogation. Keep two men on the zombie and set a three-man roving patrol around the hospital. I want everyone else outside. Got it?”
This time the man replied instantly. “Yes, Sir.”
Dek watched as the Undertaker laid the RT down on his desk. He looked more relaxed.
“Can’t be too careful,” muttered the thin man. “That’s how you stay on top in this business. You plan for the worst in every situation and you have to be prepared to get your hands dirty.” He saw the Undertaker study his talon-like fingers. “Mine have been soiled for so long they’ll never come clean.” He gave Dek a crooked grin. “Fortunately I like dirt. Bring me the kid who made the zombie. It’s time we had a chat.”
Dek nodded and walked quickly out of his boss’s office. He was glad to be leaving. He had a lot to do.
• • •
Spencer and Garret were disarmed, which disappointed both of them. Garret was upset because he lost his arsenal. Spencer because he had to beg to get the Smith and Wesson and then didn’t get to fire it. After that, they were frog marched by four guards through the corridors of the hospital’s ground floor straight into an operating theatre. Garret was forced to climb onto a surgical bed and his body was tied down with several heavy straps. Spencer was planted in a nearby chair. He was ordered to sit still.
The boy’s hands had already been fastened behind his back with plastic handcuffs so the guards didn’t bother securing him to the chair. When Spencer and Garret were in position the guards retreated to the entrance of the theatre and placed themselves on both sides of the doors - two inside and two outside. The guards, who remained inside, threw their prisoners a baleful glare then leant against the walls, alert but comfortable.
Spencer stared at the floor. He couldn’t believe how badly things had gone wrong. One moment, they were on the brink of pulling off a brilliant rescue, the next they were prisoners with virtually no hope of escape. There was still a small chance, he thought. The two Yakuza behind the bunker were undiscovered as far as he knew and the Undertaker hadn’t mentioned the Shadow Warriors on the roof. Spencer assumed they remained on the loose. There was also the matter of the Yakuza army that was on its way. Whether they would be enough to defeat the Undertaker’s troops was anyone’s guess. The reinforcements probably wouldn’t arrive in time to do Jin and the rest of them any good. All in all, the situation looked dire.
Spencer edged his chair closer to Garret. “I saw what you did for the biker,” he said as quietly as possible. “Why’d you let him take your gun?”
“No talking,” snapped one of the guards. It was the man on the left. He was a rangy fellow of average height who’d had his nose badly broken at some stage.
Garret rose slightly, leant towards him and answered quickly, also keeping his voice low. “I thought it could be useful to have someone out there who owed us a favour. We were already screwed so I took a gamble.”
“I said ‘No talking’,” bellowed the guard. He charged forward and raised his gun. Spencer moved his chair back to where it had been and Garret lay down on the bed. The guard glowered at both of them then stomped back to his position inside the door.
Spencer wasn’t sure how much time passed in silence but he was almost relieved when a kid of a similar age to him entered the room. The boy said something to the guard with the crooked nose. The guard gave a slight tilt of the head and then the kid walked over to Spencer.
“Who are you?” said Spencer before the boy could open his mouth.
“My name’s Dek,” the kid replied. “I work for the Undertaker. He wants to see you.”
The boy reached over to help Spencer stand. Spencer shrugged the boy’s hands away and stood by himself. “Your mum must be very proud,” he hissed at the teen.
“My mum’s dead,” replied the boy in a flat voice. “So is my dad,” he added.
Spencer felt a flush of awkwardness. He hadn’t expected such a response. He didn’t say anything further, allowing the boy to take him by the elbow and lead him from the room.
“I’ll be back for you shortly,” Spencer yelled to Garret, knowing, like everyone else in the theatre, that this was just hollow bravado.
As soon as they exited the room one of the guards fell in behind them, completely ruining any chance Spencer had of taking out the teen and escaping.
He planned to take careful note of the layout of the hospital but didn’t see much as he was led directly into a lift shaft that sat a couple of doors down from the operating theatre. Spencer did notice a kitchen area on the other side of the corridor, directly opposite the lift.
Useful if I fancy a snack, he thought flippantly.
Once inside the lift Spencer checked out the operating buttons. They showed that the hospital had three floors, two above the ground floor – the first floor and the roof – and one below. The basement.
Dek pressed the down button and the lift began to descend. The ride was quick and the lift opened to reveal a long corridor with a series of rooms on either side. Spencer was taken out and turned left. He walked a short distance and was led into a large room which, he estimated, was directly beneath the operating theatre. The room was of similar dimensions to its upstairs counterpart and its function was unmistakeable. It was the hospital mortuary. Spencer gave an involuntary shudder, not that there was anything horrifying on display. Quite the opposite, the area was spotlessly clean and full of sparkling stainless steel benches and basins, all illuminated by bright, fluorescent lighting. The thing that unnerved Spencer was how soulless the room was. He could guess what lay in the line of fridges at the end of the room but that didn’t worry him. Spencer wasn’t squeamish. If anything he was at his happiest elbow deep in gore. It was the cold sterility of the room he didn’t like. It was almost as if the dead had attended to the corpses.
Fortunately, he wasn’t in the room for long. He was led through the area into a large office with a glass wall that looked back into the mortuary.
The Undertaker sat impassively behind a desk in the room, erect in his chair, his long arms resting on the desktop. Spencer was placed on a stool on the other side of the desk. He faced the crime lord as if he were at a job interview.
“I think we can take those cuffs off,” said the thin man.
He waited patiently for the guard to cut through the narrow plastic bands on Spencer’s wrist before continuing. “Wait outside,” he said to the guard and then he looked at the teenager who had collected Spencer. “You too,” he added.
When his employees had left the room the thin man leant towards Spencer. “I’ll come straight to the point,” he rasped. “I want you to work for me.”
Spencer was taken aback. Of all the things he expected the skeletal man to say, this would have been near the bottom of the list.
“I…” he began.
The Undertaker stopped him. “Don’t answer yet. Hear me out first.”
Spencer held his tongue.
“I’m a criminal,” The skeletal man said with no hint of apology. “But that shouldn’t worry you too much. From what I hear you bend the rules as well.”
Spencer couldn’t argue with that.
The crime lord continued. “I know what I want and I take it and if you stand in my way I remove you. Ruthless? Sure. Cruel? At times. Effective. Yes.”
Spencer found himself looking deeply into the thin man’s black, pitiless eyes, unable to turn away. He listened, as if hypnotised.
“There are two types of people in this world Spencer. Predator and prey. Which do you want to be?”
Spencer blinked, trying to break the man’s spell. “I don’t think it’s as simple as that,” he replied. “I believe you can get what you want without hurting anyone else.”
“Is that what happened when you resurrected the cop?”
Spencer thought about Garret, half-dead, half-alive, and the pain he had caused Cadence. Regan was also in a cell somewhere above him. Jin, Endo, the biker, even Carl and his gang. They’d all been hurt or killed.
“No,” he replied. “But most of that was unforeseeable and I don’t feel good about it.”
