The Second Son, page 23
Where do I start?
‘Start from beginning.’ Dad, the mind-reader.
Once I’ve brought him up to speed, his fists rise and crash down on the dash, The whole car shudders. Then he inhales slowly and lowers his hands back into his lap.
‘Okay. Now I see. You stupid, but is past.’ His voice is dangerously calm. ‘This Slater, he is crazy, yes? Fucking prick thinks he make us pay him for protection, yes? He want war with us?’
‘Yes, Dad, I think that sums up what he wanted before, but now he wants a whole lot more.’
‘You cannot do as he ask. You know this, right? If you go to police, give yourself up, you give us all up. Police not believe you do job on own. What? You drive four cars, two bikes? Is stupid idea. Forget it. We think of other plan. Drive home. I make calls.’
I go into autopilot, soothed by my father’s calls to Marko, Anto and Baz. Keeping the group small.
My mind circles back to Amy and Sasha in the hands of a psychopath. What is he doing to them right now? Despite what my father has just said, I’m going to do what Slater wants and give myself up. But then MacPherson would want to know what was in the van. He’d get a search warrant for my house, the warehouse, my parents’ house. Fuck, everyone’s houses. The guns and money in my safe, the ecstasy and the arsenal under the floor in the warehouse. My hands are white on the wheel as I concentrate on parking the Jeep outside Mum and Dad’s.
Slamming the car door behind me, I follow Dad up the front steps as Marko pulls up. Anto is right behind him, Baz in the passenger seat. Time for a war council.
Who the fuck knows? Someone might actually come up with an idea.
My phone rings again. Unknown number. Fuck. I don’t have a choice. I walk down the hallway and slam through the screen door, out onto the back patio.
‘What?’
‘Detective Ian MacPherson here, Johnny.’
For one crazy moment, I want to tell him everything and get his help to bring Amy and Sasha home. Then I come to my senses.
‘Did you miss me?’ I ask, in an attempt to bring myself under control.
‘Well, your name has been mentioned a lot down here today by a certain someone.’
‘Really? Who’s been talking about me?’ Knowing full well.
‘One Ian “Ink” Slater. He’s actually been less than polite about you.’
‘He’s a scumbag, psycho, tatt-covered piece of shit,’ I bark, as I pace across the patio, then down the stairs to Sasha’s soccer patch.
‘Well, well. You don’t like him either? Fair enough. Yes, Slater reckons it was your crew up to mischief last night, reckons he has a rock-solid alibi. His alibi has made herself scarce this morning, but no doubt we will track her down in the fullness. Just as we’ll be checking your alibi, Johnny.’
The sun drives me back up the stairs into the shade again.
‘Have you searched the prick’s home? He still lives with his granny, you know.’
‘I haven’t got enough grounds for that yet, Johnny, but I’m working on it. Should I be getting a search warrant for your premises too?’
I should have made an anonymous tip about the drugs under Slater’s bed. They have to act on anonymous tips, don’t they? But how would that help me? Amy and Sasha were probably taken just after leaving Chaz’s place. That call from Amy’s phone while we were waiting for Stanislav to leave the freight facility. No message. It must have been Slater.
‘You still there, Johnny?’
‘What do you want from me? I told you this morning, I had nothing to do with it. Have you managed to get anything out of Vucavec?’
‘I’m not at liberty to talk to you about other people’s statements, especially statements from the victim. It pains me to call Stanislav Vucavec a victim, but that’s what he is until we can prove otherwise.’
‘So why are you calling me?’
‘Just letting you know your name has been mentioned. Don’t go anywhere, Johnny. Don’t leave town. Don’t let any of your crew leave town. We found a shell casing at the scene that’s the same calibre as the bullet lodged in Zoran Milovic’s heart. Good shot, by the way. What’s the bet someone loaded that cartridge into the murder weapon without gloves on, never really expecting to fire it?’
‘Nothing to do with me, or my crew.’
‘We’ll soon see, won’t we?’
By now Mum has herded everyone into the dining room. She has obviously been cooking ever since we left for the cop shop. A tablecloth has been slung over the big table and the sun is streaming through the window. The fan and air-con are waging a losing battle against the heat.
Mum places steaming bowls of chicken soup in front of each seat; she believes hot liquids cool you down in summer. A cabbage and potato salad sits in the middle of the table, along with a mound of homemade bread, olive oil and lemon wedges. She gives me the side plates, spoons, knives and forks to hand out, before she sits down beside Dad in an unprecedented move. She knows this is business. Dad stares at her, but she just leans back and crosses her arms. Her look says it all—Make me. Just try and make me leave.
For once, Dad bows to her authority.
‘Johnny, you tell everyone. Everything,’ Dad demands.
After I finish, Baz sums it up: ‘So you planned to frame Ink Slater because he was a threat to Amy and Sasha?’
‘Is working for you, this plan?’ Dad’s voice is deceptively even.
I stand. ‘We clean up first. Homes, the warehouse, the ecstasy, all the guns. I’ll say I was in it alone, hired some blokes I met at the pub, can’t remember their names. I’ve got to do it. I have to get Amy and Sasha away from Slater, even if it means spending the next twenty years in jail.’
‘Sit down. You will do nothing.’ Mum is as stern as I’ve ever seen her. I automatically do as I’m told. She raises her right hand and wags her index finger at her husband.
‘I already lose one son to your business. I not lose another son. Milan, you need do something. Now.’ She reaches across the table for the rakia, pours herself a shot, swallows it and bangs the glass down on the table.
Dad stares at his wife in shock. Speechless.
‘How long they been gone?’ Her brown eyes bore into mine.
‘Last night, about ten p.m., they left Chaz’s place. He must have grabbed them on the way home.’ Shit, I haven’t called Chaz back. She’ll be worried. She’ll have to stay worried until this is over.
‘How you know he has them?’ asks Mum. ‘Maybe he tell lies.’
‘He called on Amy’s phone and said Sasha punched hard for someone his size.’
‘My Sasha, he is good fighter.’ Mum looks proud, then desolate. She pours herself another shot. She grabs Dad’s wrist and hisses at him in Croatian. I don’t understand everything she says but register its impact on my father.
‘Tetka Branka, if Johnny or Tetak Milan give themselves up, they give us all to the police. It is the same outcome.’ Marko obviously understood Mum’s suggestion. His brow is furrowed, an expression I’ve never seen on his face before. Both Baz and Anto are nodding in agreement.
‘Where does he have them?’ Mum looks a bit flushed from the rakia.
‘I don’t know. He’s not stupid enough to be keeping them at his place. His alibi for last night’s job looks shaky, by the way.’
‘How you know this?’ Dad looks at me as if I’ve pulled a turd out of my pocket.
‘MacPherson called to tell me Slater was blaming us for the Marsh Street Bridge job and that he has an alibi.’ I pause for a moment, thinking it through. ‘If Amy left Charlie’s place at ten p.m. last night, and got car-jacked on the way home, then Slater’s only real alibi is snatching Amy and Sasha.’
‘How does this help?’ asks Marko.
‘Don’t know, just trying to think of another way out.’
‘Why MacPherson call you?’ Dad asks.
‘He told me not to leave town. None of us, he said. And he’s checking for fingerprints on the shell they found at the scene.’
‘Fuck. Marko, why you shoot Zoran and not pick up shell?’ Dad gives his nephew a hard look.
‘Who is this Zoran?’ asks Mum.
‘He got in the way of Marko’s bullet, Mama. Don’t worry about him right now.’
‘O moj Boze.’ Mum crosses herself.
‘Why haven’t the police found the E and the gun we left at Slater’s last night?’ asks Anto.
‘Not enough grounds. Same reason they haven’t been here. Right now, it doesn’t matter.’ I rub my forehead and try to refocus. ‘Listen, Slater told me he would start sending me pieces of Sasha if I don’t do what he says. We need to get everyone to the warehouse, now. Fill them in, give them time to clean house. Then I’ve got to go in and give myself up.’
Mum hauls herself up from the table, defeated. She makes her way towards the door, twitching her house dress away from her neck, muttering about the heat and how she’ll put the kettle on. Then she stops, turns around slowly, a glint in her eye.
‘Who is important to this Ink Slater? Who is important to him like Amy and Sasha be to us?’
‘Well, he doesn’t seem to have a steady girlfriend. I mean, the guy still lives with his nanna, for God’s sake,’ Anto pipes up.
I don’t get it at first, not until my mother looks at me and lifts an eyebrow at Anto’s response.
‘Mum, she’s an old lady!’
‘He steal Sasha and Amy. He break rules first.’
Dad stands now too. He is looking over at Mum with admiration in his eyes.
The rest of us start nodding.
‘You’re right, Mum. She might even know where he’s keeping them.’ I can’t believe I’m saying it.
‘Bring her here. I ask her where is my grandson. She tell me.’ Mum’s smile is ferocious.
AMY
It is impossible to remain in a heightened state of terror when nothing is happening. The day is passing unbearably slowly, especially given our lack of sleep and the heat. We played I Spy until Sasha started making up imaginary animals hiding in corners, which was fun for a while. But we need a distraction.
I read somewhere that you should get to know your kidnappers, humanise yourself, so it’s harder for them to kill you if their demands aren’t met. I’m sure Johnny is moving heaven and earth to come up with the ransom, but still, I have to find a way to play this to my advantage. I wonder if any of these men have children. I walk over to the door and knock hard.
‘Hey! Is anyone out there?’
Heavy footsteps. A voice on the other side of the door.
‘What do you want?’ It’s one of the big guys. The brothers.
‘Can we have a pack of cards or something to read? I’ve got a bored ten-year-old boy in here.’ I smile at Sasha, who looks both insulted and eager to hear the response.
‘Okay, I’ll see what I can find.’
Five minutes later, the key turns and in comes one of the brothers.
In case it’s useful later, I try to memorise anything of significance. This one is wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. The one who delivered breakfast was wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt. Both have black balaclavas, blue eyes and identical tattoos of a scorpion on their left forearms. Apart from the colour of the T-shirt, they are indistinguishable.
‘Do you have kids?’ I ask the man.
‘No’ is all I get as he deposits a newspaper on the table. He’s back out the door before I can think of anything else to ask him. The key turns in the lock. So much for engaging the enemy.
Under the newspaper is a pack of cards as old as the bathroom. I sit cross-legged on the floor, my back against the bed, Sasha opposite me, lying on his stomach. But it doesn’t take many rounds of Go Fish before Sasha sits up.
‘Mum, I’m sick of this. Why won’t these guys let us go home?’ He still expects me to know all the answers.
‘I’m sure they’re talking to your dad about getting us safely back home.’
‘Does he need to pay them a whole lot of money to get us back?’
‘Probably.’
‘Where’s Dad gonna get the money? Do they think we’re rich? We’re not rich, Mum.’ Now he’s edgy again. Damn.
‘Dad will work it out. You don’t have to worry about it.’
He gets up and begins to pace, as though it is his job to worry about it.
‘They’re not going to kill us, are they?’
‘Sweetheart, if they were going to kill us, we’d be dead by now, so no, it’s about money, I promise.’
‘Next time they come in,’ he says, ‘I’ll stand behind the door and tackle the man around the ankles, get him down on the ground.’ Sasha is getting excited now. ‘You kick him in the head until he falls asleep.’ His eyes are blazing, as if he’s come up with the best plan ever.
I can’t believe it. He may look like me, but right now, he’s pure Johnny.
‘It’ll work, Mum. Me and Dad train on his punching bag all the time. He’s been teaching me kickboxing and punching and I’m really good. Dad says I’m a natural fighter.’
Sasha must see the growing look of concern on my face.
‘But I think you’ll be okay, Mum, even though you’re a girl and all that. All you have to do is kick him really hard in the head.’ He demonstrates with a roundhouse kick to an imaginary head on the floor. ‘If you don’t want to do the kicking, you can do the tackling and I’ll do the kicking.’
What the hell has Johnny been teaching him in our garage?
‘Even if I agreed this was a good plan, Sash, and I’m not agreeing, but even if I did, how many men are out there?’
‘Three.’ Sasha can see where I’m going with this and his shoulders slump.
‘That’s right, three. And only two of us. Right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So how about I teach you how to play poker instead. It’s a grown-up card game and we can place bets. Which means you could win some pocket money.’
‘Enough so these guys would let us out?’
‘Not enough for that, I’m afraid.’
He sighs and sits down opposite me again, muttering under his breath about tackling and kicking.
As I deal the first hand, I add to my growing list of reasons to divorce Johnny. Not only is he responsible for us being held captive, he’s training my beautiful son to be a brawler! I knew they were boxing together, but I had no idea about the philosophy lessons. When did this sense of dominance over women start creeping into my son’s world view? If Johnny was here now in this stifling room, he’s the one I’d be crash-tackling and kicking in the head.
JOHNNY
It’s right on four in the afternoon as I drive Josef ’s van into Ink Slater’s street. We didn’t have time to steal a vehicle, so the van has fake number plates. Anto in the front passenger seat, scowling, Marko in the back, whistling softly. Our new normal.
There are no cars in the driveway, but the garage door is down. No way of knowing if Slater or his granny is home. But I’m betting on him being wherever he has Amy and Sasha stashed. Once I start thinking of what he might be doing to my wife and child, my vision blurs. I take a breath and banish all thoughts except the job at hand.
Once in the driveway, I head up to the garage and veer to the left. Anyone looking from the street will be able to see the back of the van, but not an old lady being carted out of her house.
Anto and I stride to the back door, Anto holding his favourite shotgun by his side. I’ve got my Glock. If Slater comes to the door, he’ll get a slug through the heart. Anto takes up a position to the left of the door, so he can’t be seen. Marko stays by the van, keeping watch down the driveway. The green paint on Granny Slater’s back door is peeling in places. The Glock behind my back, I knock three times. Nothing. I knock again, then glance at Anto as I hear slow steps approaching. I bung a big smile on my face as the door opens on a tiny old lady and a yellow Bakelite kitchen the same vintage as the cottage.
‘Hello, Mrs Slater, remember me? Johnny, I’m a friend of Ink’s. Is he here?’
‘No, he’s not here.’ She’s suspicious. ‘I don’t know you. What the hell do you want?’
I keep smiling and step in, crowding Granny Slater. She moves back, clearly surprised that I’m entering her house. Surprised too, when the gun appears in my hand and another big bloke with an even bigger gun fills the open doorway. Suddenly she looks stricken, old and weak. She totters back a few steps into the kitchen, putting her hands out to steady herself against the kitchen bench. I feel like a low dog.
‘What do you want? You know Ian, my grandson? He’ll kill you both for this.’ All the colour has drained from her face. I glance at Anto, who also looks sick with shame. I try to appear relatively harmless, which is hard when you have a gun in your hands. So I flick the safety on and stuff it down the back of my jeans. Anto’s shotgun is enough.
Anto hands me the plastic bag full of old stockings and scarves that Mum gave us out of concern for the old lady’s fragile skin.
‘We’re not going to hurt you. We just want to take you somewhere quiet, where we can have a little chat about what your grandson has been up to.’
‘Why do we need to go anywhere? Ask me whatever you want. I’m staying here.’ She moves stiffly over to the kitchen table and sits down, a stubborn look coming over her face.
I glance at Anto. He shrugs and stays where he is, just inside the back door.
‘No, Mrs Slater, we need you to come with us.’
Anto makes a couple of half-hearted motions towards the door with his gun.
‘Okay, I’ll get my handbag and my keys, so we can lock the door. You can’t trust anyone these days. Used to be able to leave the door unlocked when I was a kid.’ She mutters to herself as she staggers back up and walks over to an old floral shopping bag lying on the kitchen bench. She picks up a set of keys next to it and puts them into the bag, then spins around and shoots Anto. His shotgun clatters to the floor.
Time stands still. I can’t breathe. My best mate is clutching his right shoulder and staring at the old lady with a horrified expression. Then she turns her gun towards me.
