INTRODUCTION
Stand-alone short story. Bit of an angst-fest.
WARNINGS... Violence and beer-drinking, lots of swearing. Refs to heroin use. Casefiles reality, boys in their 20's.
I wrote this around 10 years ago, way before the two stories I've already put on. It shows its age in the lack of good surveillance equipment (I know it existed but I didn't know about it then) and the inclusion of a touch of police incompetence- not a ploy I like to use anymore. However, I've resurrected the story because I know someone who likes this type of thing…
Happy birthday, signaturefarms! Hope this is the sort of plot you meant….
COLLUSION
CHAPTER 1- THE HARD MAN
Raymond Boggs was in trouble and he knew it. The small-time crook was tied to a chair in a disused warehouse near the docks, where Nobody Could Hear Him Scream. He owed Ed Marley money that he couldn't pay. And now Marley's thugs had him. His eye was already swollen shut, his lip split, two of his fingers broken. He peered at the men around him through his one good eye. The sadistic one was standing on the opposite side of the room now, his back to the hapless man. His fists were clenched tightly and he seemed to be breathing deeply, as though trying to gain control of himself. Marley's three other heavies stood watching their colleague with interest.
One of them, Lomax, the man in charge, turned back to Boggs. He bent down beside him and whispered softly. 'Last chance or we'll let him play with you again. Where. Is. The. MONEY!' The last word was spat in the prisoner's face.
'I….I…..I just don't have it. P..please…I'll get it, honest.' Boggs snivelled.
Lomax stood up and called to the figure on the far side of the room.
'Max….?He's all yours.'
The man turned round slowly. Boggs took one look at him and lost control of his bladder. His expression was cold and murderous. The smirk on his lips promised more pain.
But his face was young and handsome, his eyes bright blue, his hair blond, his face…..his face was that of Joe Hardy.
…
Ten minutes later, Lomax pulled his cellphone out of his pocket. He looked down at Boggs in disgust. Panting and bleeding, the bound man cried pathetically. Lomax turned away from the prisoner, shaking his head. He dialled a number.
'It's Lomax... No, he's not got the money….. Yes boss.'
Joe looked over at Lomax, awaiting instruction.
'Sorry Boggs, the boss ain't feeling too forgiving. Max….. finish him.'
Joe nodded, pulled a gun from his belt and levelled it at Boggs' forehead. Boggs wailed in terror. Joe looked into his eyes, then shook his head and lowered the gun. 'Nah, too easy. I've got something new I want to try.' He dug about in his jeans pocket and pulled out a small brown envelope. He waved it at Lomax. 'Cyanide pill. Never seen how they work. Want a bit of entertainment?'
Lomax frowned, then shrugged. 'Sure, why not.'
Joe kneeled down in front of Boggs. He opened the envelope, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and laid it across his palm. He tipped a single pill out onto it. He looked at the little yellow pill carefully for a moment, his expression one of curious anticipation. Then he held his palm up in front of Boggs' face.
'See this, Boggs?' Joe whispered. 'This will make the nerves in your brain short circuit. You'll die in seconds. I hear it's very painful but you just….. can't…... scream!'
Boggs howled, tears running down his face. 'Please, no. I'll do anything. PLEASE.'
Joe stood up and walked slowly around Boggs, stopping behind him. Leaning forwards, Joe grabbed Boggs' nose, squeezing and twisting it hard. He writhed and struggled, trying to hold his breath, but eventually he had to open his mouth. Joe shoved the pill into his mouth, then put his left arm round Boggs' neck, pulling his jaw up and holding it shut. His right hand was in Boggs' greasy hair, pulling his head back.
'Night night, Mr Boggs.' Joe said, coldly. Boggs struggled against his iron grip for a few seconds, then swallowed. He jerked for a minute, panicking, before sagging in Joe's grasp. Joe felt his neck, then straightened up, satisfied. 'Not bad. Bit different. Might have to get myself some more of those….'
'We dumping him?' said Campbell.
Joe snorted. 'He's covered in piss! I'm not touching him. No one's gonna look for the little shit. Let's leave him for the rats.'
Laughing, the men walked out of the warehouse together, leaving Boggs slumped, lifeless, in the chair.
…
Frank Hardy, Joe's dark-haired, dark-eyed older brother, looked intently at his father. Fenton Hardy nodded at him and got to his feet.
'Brennan- can you get men to that warehouse- low profile, not sirens blaring. Make sure this gets reported as a murder and get that man shifted out of state until Joe's out. Right?'
Police chief Brennan glared at Fenton. 'I'm not an idiot Hardy. I'm not going to do anything that would endanger him. It'll all be covered.' He got to his feet and marched out of the surveillance suite, leaving father and son alone.
Joe Hardy had been deep undercover in New York for 2 months now, living life as 'Max Sloan'. Police Chief Brennan already had several police operatives at various stages of infiltration into Ed Marley's New York based drugs gang, but all had been kept at arm's length from the heart of the operation. Three months earlier, Brennan had finally approached his old NYPD colleague, Fenton Hardy, for help, hoping for a fresh perspective from the PI.
Frank and Joe, who were in partnership with their father in the family detective business, had drawn straws for the role when the opportunity had arisen to go undercover. Frank had lost. And Joe was enjoying an unanticipated level of success.
Joe was playing the role of 'Max', a slightly unstable young man who thrived on violence, like a seasoned actor. He had 'run into' with Marley's heavies and befriended them. He had gained their trust. He drank with them, he gambled with them. He passed their tests and was introduced to Marley. And Marley had spotted that he had brains, not just brawn and a foul temper. He liked him. He let him into his inner circle and bragged to him. Joe's job was to laugh at Marley's jokes, punch faces and collect money. And information.
Frank had known that Joe would do a good job. All the same, he didn't know how Joe was managing to keep it up. He supposed the fact that the faces he was punching had all been criminals in their own right up to that point counted for a lot. And, until Boggs, Joe had somehow avoided being put in the position where he was expected to kill.
Frank had a sneaking suspicion that one of the reasons Joe's act was so convincing was that the character of Max, concocted between the brothers, was one Joe understood and could relate to with ease. Joe's girlfriend, Iola, had been murdered by terrorists eight years earlier, when the brothers were just in their teens. Joe had blamed himself, for all it hadn't been his fault. It had affected him deeply. He had become a loose cannon. His grief, guilt and fury had initially been channelled into capturing those responsible but, when that job was done, he was not sated. He had struggled for a while, lashing out at those who loved him and who had to strive to cope with his unpredictability and lack of interest in his own well-being. He'd got into fights, he'd disappeared for hours on end, he'd even come home drunk on occasion. His close bond with Frank had eventually pulled him back but the scars from that dark time ran deep in Joe's psyche. The ghost of what he had fleetingly become would never leave either of them.
Frank sighed deeply. 'I'll be happy when we can get him out of there, dad.' Fenton nodded. It was a high risk situation. Joe didn't have a back-up team waiting around the corner to bail him out at the drop of a hat. The length and complexities of the assignment made that impossible. But he did have a covert audio device on him- a bug. It was built into his watch. And the police, Fenton and Frank between them were ensuring the feed from it was monitored 24-7 from a dedicated room at Police HQ.
'Me too.' said Fenton. 'But he's doing a bloody good job. We've got enough evidence together to nail them on any number of counts. Murder, extortion, drug-dealing. If he can just get them to talk more about the Cincinnati connection we'll lock the lot of them up and throw away the key.'
Frank nodded. The police intelligence sources had indicated there were significant links between Marley and an influential criminal group based in Cincinnati. The nature and meaning of the link had eluded them and Brennan was determined it should be clarified before the New York group was shut down.
Fenton stood up, stretching. 'You want to keep monitoring for a while? I could do with a break.' he said to Frank.
'Sure. Any chance of a coffee?'
'Coming up, son.'
Frank sat back and listened as Joe and his 'friends' cracked open some beers. It was an activity they seemed to indulge in a lot. Frank felt an irrational twinge of jealousy. He laughed inwardly at his own involuntary reaction then speculated vaguely as to when he and Joe would get the chance to do the same.
…
Raymond Boggs was finally having a good day. He had been astonished to wake up in a hospital with a uniformed police officer sitting beside him. He had been more astonished when it dawned on him he wasn't dead. And when he was told he was getting moved to a safehouse, to be fed, watered and protected at Uncle Sam's expense, he thought all his Christmases had come at once!
He lay back in his comfortable hospital bed while a pretty young doctor gently checked him over. He looked at her chest lustily and smiled a dirty smile. He'd think about her again later.
He thought over everything he had been told since wakening. He was getting moved out of state, away from Marley and his heavies. He was to remain under police guard for an undisclosed amount of time. He wasn't to contact anyone he knew. His mind ticked over slowly. Marley thought he was dead. The police wanted Marley to keep thinking he was dead. Why?
He thought of the police officer who was seated by his bed. While he was giving his statement to the man, Boggs had said 'Get that blond one, Max. He's crazy! That bastard gave me cyanide!' The man's reaction had been far from that Boggs had expected. He'd smiled. Then he'd said 'If he'd given you cyanide you would be dead, Boggs. He gave you a sedative.'
'What? Why?' Boggs had said. The police officer had left the question unanswered. But Boggs had been clever. He had feigned sleep, listening into careless conversations between different police officers who came and went, finding out a lot more about what was going on.
Boggs smiled an unpleasant smile. The safehouse had sounded good. No one hassling him for money, no one hitting him. Three square meals a day, no doubt with ad lib donuts. But it was missing one very important thing. Smack. His scrawny body was started to remind him he needed some. And now he might just be able to get it for free…..
Eyeing his police guard speculatively, Boggs grabbed at his stomach. 'Aaaaah, aaaaah, it hurts! Get a doctor, please!' The officer jumped in up shock, dropping his book. He ran out of Boggs' room. Boggs launched himself out of bed and sprinted out the door, heading the opposite direction along the corridor from the officer, hospital gown flapping open behind him.
…
Boggs looked around him, trying to see if he was being followed. He didn't think so. He actually seemed to have got away! He'd made it to Lomax's apartment, managing to steal some clothes on the way. He'd never dared to come here in daylight before- he'd only ever been when he was rattling and had a pocket full of freshly stolen cash. But this was different! His mission was important! He knocked on the door.
After a moment it opened. Lomax stood, looking at Boggs in disbelief. 'What? But you're dead!' he exclaimed.
Boggs looked at the gun that Lomax was pointing at his gut and started to shake, his newfound confidence evaporating. 'I…..I need to see Marley. Where is he?'
'You are a dead man, Boggs' growled Lomax. But he stood back from the door, waving Boggs up the stairs with his gun.
Boggs walked into the loft apartment, legs feeling like jelly.
'Boss? We have an unexpected visitor…..' called Lomax.
A portly figure, who had been sitting in an armchair facing away from the stairs, stood up slowly and turned round. Marley. The crime boss's cold voice seemed to cut through the clouds of cigar smoke in the room. 'Boggs. I'm rather surprised to see you. I was under the impression you were no longer with us.'
'Easily fixed' said Lomax, raising his gun again.
'Wait! No! I have some information for you. B-but I want my debt cancelled and I want smack. Plenty of it.'
Lomax and Marley's eyebrows just about hit the roof at the audacity of the man.
'Go on' said Marley, teeth gritted.
'Max? Your heavy? He's a pig.'