Chapter Seventeen
1997
It became perfectly clear within a few seconds of meeting him why he was known as Sniff the Snout. The tell-tale powdery residue around his nostrils and his constant rubbing of his nose, accompanied by sounds reminiscent of someone suffering from a nasty allergy gave Simon and Robin a thorough introduction to the man.
"Afternoon, Sniff," Gene leaned heavily against the side of the snooker table, blocking his shot. Sniff looked up at him, cue in hand.
"Do you mind?" he frowned, "I've got twenty quid riding on this."
In reply Gene reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a £20 note and threw it down on the table.
"There," he said, "let's just say you already won."
Sniff glanced from Gene to his opponent who wasn't looking pleased at their game being interrupted.
"Money's only half the prize," said Sniff, "I've got a rep to protect."
"Then I'll let you play against Shoebury when I've finished with you," said Gene, "Game'll be over in two minutes, you'll look like a bloody snooker champion."
""Hey," Simon scowled, "for all you know I might be a dab hand with a snooker cue."
Robin looked at him worriedly.
"You know how many people ended up in casualty last time you tried to play," he said.
Simon looked down, his cheeks burning up.
"I thought we agreed never to mention that again," he said.
"Fascinating as this is," Sniff elbowed Gene out of the way and began to line up his shot, "I've got a game to finish,"
Before he could strike the cue ball a gloved hand reached down and swiped it from the table. Sniff's angry eyes turned to Gene as he dropped it down the top of his trousers and said,
"Looks like the game's off, Sniff. Let's talk."
"Oh god," Robin closed his eyes and held his head, "too many ball jokes… can't take any more…."
"Well I'm not going to be playing again until they've decontaminated the white ball," Sniff cried in horror.
"Then it must be time for a friendly talk," Gene said, steering Sniff away from the table. He pushed him to the bar, bought him a drink, attempted to sit on a bar stool and got a cue ball in an unmentionable place. After he extracted the item from his trousers he regarded the man seriously. "Got a couple of questions for you, then you can get back to yer game," he said.
"I told you, I'm not playing until that thing's been through decontamination," Sniff eyed the ball in Gene's hand as he threw and caught it a few times.
"I see you're still powdering yer nose," Gene told him. Involuntarily Sniff rubbed at the centre of his face and twitched his nose a few times.
"So, what? You here to do a strip search?"
"Just surprised, that's all," said Gene, "sounds like a few locals have been getting more than they bargained for lately."
Sniff's expression changed. His eyes darted nervously from side to side to make sure prying eyes and ears were not on them, then he looked back at Gene.
"Yeah," he said quietly, "standard's not what it used to be."
"Any reason for that?" Gene pressed.
"I'd thought that was obvious," Sniff said awkwardly. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Look, the new guy, the one who's doing this patch now, he's no Nailer."
"No, he's not," Gene agreed, "He likes to add his own twist to a few classics. Why clean the bath when you can stick the scouerer up yer nose instead?"
"I've seen him before," Sniff said anxiously, "he used to hang around Nailer's business. But I always thought Nick kept him at arm's length. Never expected him to hand over his business to a twat like that."
"Who says he handed his business over?" asked Gene.
"He's got all the contacts… knows all the right people…" Sniff shrugged, "how else was he going to get that kind of information?"
"Maybe from hanging around, trying to muscle in and being kept at arm's length?" Robin volunteered, raising an eyebrow.
Sniff glanced at him, then back at Gene.
"Who's that?" he demanded.
"You're in the presence of comic book royalty," said Gene, "that's Batman."
Robin ignored the remark.
"How long was Layton trying to get close to Nailer's business for?" he asked.
"Layton?" Sniff repeated, "that's his name is it? Ratty guy, greasy hair, skin like sandpaper?"
"That's the one," sighed Robin.
Sniff shrugged.
"Must have been a good couple of years," he said, "I got the feeling he always wanted to play with the big boys but never lived up to the standard.
"It's hard to think of any standards Layton would live up to," Gene commented.
Sniff scratched his nose.
"Look," he began, "all I know about the guy is that he tried to get close to Nailer and now suddenly he;s taking over his business and supplying all his usual dealers. He's stepped right in, like dead man's boots. Looked like Nailer put him in charge. That's the way it seems from the street."
"Sounds like Layton did his homework and found out enough to convince the world he was Nailer's right hand man," Simon commented, "sneaky bugger."
"Yeah, except he's not smart enough to follow Nailer's style too," said Sniff. "People who've bought from the same dealers for years are too scared to take a hit now because they never know what they'll get. Nailer's stuff was clean, maybe not pure, but never cut with anything that…" he flinched even thinking about it, "anything that's supposed to get your bath whiter than white."
"The addicts are ditching Nailer's old network?" asked Robin.
"They're going elsewhere for their party bags," Sniff nodded, "but this… Layton is spreading his wings too. Taking it over, bit by bit."
"Not for much longer if we can help it," said Robin.
"So," Gene leaned closer , spinning the white ball on the bar, "whose stuff are you sticking up yer big red conk at the moment?"
Sniff lived up to his name with a revolting sound emerging from his nostrils.
"Saw this coming," he said, "it pays to stockpile."
"Do you know where Layton's based?" Robin asked, "has he taken over one of Nailer's premises? Is there one particular place he's receiving or distributing the stuff?"
"I'm staying well away from the scene right now," sniff shook his head, "I don't know and I don't want to know."
"And when your stockpile runs out?" asked Simon.
Sniff shrugged.
"Field trip," he said.
Simon had to admit he was fairly amused by the idea of a coachload of addicts going on a field trip to find a new dealer. Gene on the other hand could see that Sniff wasn't going to offer them with the specifics he needed so it was time to move on.
"Well, thank you for your time," he said, "I had a ball." He placed his snooker-related haul on a beer mat in the hope that it would stop it from rolling away and got to his feet. "If you find out where mister Layton's rat hole might be located you know where to find me."
He turned and began to walk from the pub with Simon and Robin in tow. It seemed Layton had been a crafty little arsehole indeed but with addicts seeking new sources for their goodies it looked like his new business may well be short-lived. It was time to strike before it crumbled away beneath him – just like his empire from 'back in the day'.
~xXx~
2012
He watched and waited for the opportunity to present itself. He knew it wouldn't be far away. This was his time, his luck, his destiny. Sooner or later he was going to find his way out. He had never expected that his chance would be handed to him on a plate by the wave of nausea that he'd been fighting back for an hour or more.
Layton swallowed as it rose again. He knew that it was becoming harder to fight and he wasn't going to be able to keep it at bay forever. He reached out and squeezed the alarm call button beside him and a moment later a nurse came rushing into the room.
"How are you doing, Arthur?" she asked.
"Feel sick," Layton gasped between deep breaths.
"That's to be expected," the nurse told him, "We can give you an anti-emetic to stop the nausea if you want?"
"Yes," Layton nodded quickly, swallowing and closing his eyes.
"Alright, I'll be right back," the nurse told him. She left in pursuit of the injection and a few moments later she returned with a needle. "Here," she said, this'll soon help you feel better."
Layton tried to control his breathing as she walked towards him and aimed the needle for the port on his cannula. Just a few moments more, he told himself, just a few more seconds. Just wait… Just hold it back –
But suddenly he couldn't hold it back any longer and a horrible, intense sick feeling rose up like a tidal wave inside of him. He turned and vomited across his smock and his arm on the cuffed side, coughing and spluttering as he did so.
"It's OK, it's OK," the nurse assured him, "it doesn't matter, we'll soon get you cleaned up –"
She laid the needle on the trolley beside him as she glanced around. There was a clean smock in the chair and she knew clean sheets were just outside. She looked at his cuffed hand and knew that this was going to be one of the more complicated bed changes she'd ever had to endure. With a sigh she approached the officer at the door who was looking slightly queasy himself from the scene behind him and asked him discretely to undo Layton's handcuffs while she changed his bed and clothes. The officer looked less than pleased about the idea, fully aware that for safety's sake he was going to have to fasten the bed end of the cuffs to himself. Being attached to Arthur Layton was bad enough, but a pukey Arthur Layton? He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve that horror.
Layton's eyes turned to his right hand side. He slipped his hand surreptitiously from under the covers and reached toward the trolley. There it was; his key, his escape route. It was just an inch away. He stretched a little further, as far as his cuffs would allow. Almost there… Almost… so close…With one final push, there it was in his grasp. He held the needle tightly and bought his hand back into bed, hiding it beneath the covers as quick as a flash. His heart was pounding and he couldn't stop shaking.
His eyes darted anxiously to the officer as he approached him with a sigh, key in hand.
"Must have done something rotten in a previous life to end up babysitting you tonight, Layton," He said as he unfastened the cuffs from the bed. He prepared to fasten them to his own wrist, flinching at the smell of the rancid vomit, but before he could complete the action he found Layton adopting a burst of energy as he grasped the needle firmly in his right hand and aimed it through the air at the officer's throat. He plunged it in hard, as hard as he could manage, as far as it would go. The look of pain and fear on the officer's face was immediate and Layton took that as his cue to leave before he outstayed his welcome. He heard beeping as the nurse hit an alarm and knew that his time was limited. He had to pull together all the strength he had left in his ailing body and make his way out of the hospital while he still had a chance.
Pushing the gasping, desperate officer to the floor he scrambled unsteadily out of the bed and out of the room, moving as fast as he was able. This was it. This was his chance. The charges that had been set to put him away gave him the answer to his freedom. It was about time luck was on his side.
~xXx~
1997
"Exactly where are we and what are we doing here?"
Victoria wasn't sure a life on the run was right for her, but it was certainly less traumatic than working for Keats. Nailer was the first person to make her feel safe in… well, as far back as she could remember. She watched him peering out the window into the dusty yard where trucks baring the name Carter's Logistics lined up side by side.
"I need to talk to a mate of mine," Nailer explained.
"What about?"
"Well, first of all to make sure he is still a mate," said Nailer, "and secondly to find out what he knows about Layton."
Victoria looked on in horror as he pulled out and checked his gun.
"Oh my god! Now there are firearms involved?" she cried.
"One firearm," Nailer corrrected, "And as long as we're still cool it won't be involved." He smiled amiably and stepped out of the car.
Victoria sank down in the front seat to stay out of view.
"Damn this," she mumbled, "how the hell does he make everything sound so bloody reasonable?" she slapped her forehead and gave a deep sigh. No wonder he'd been so good at evading the authorities for so long.
X
"Well, fancy seeing you here."
The last thing Andrew Carter expected to see was a smiling Nick Nailer looming large behind him. He visibly jumped and gave a gasp of shock, breathing heavily.
"Oh shit," he cried, "don't do that! If you're going to make a break for it you could at least warn someone!" he closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. "What the hell are you doing here? And how did you get out?"
"Friends in high places," Nailer told him, "speaking of which, I'm here to make sure you're still one of them."
"What do you mean?" Carter frowned.
"Arthur Layton," Nailer said simply.
Carter's expression darkened in an instant.
"What about the pig-brained arsehole?" he asked.
Nailer raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds like you're still on my Christmas card list," he said, putting his gun away.
Carter sank onto a chair at one side of the room.
"What exactly are you trying to ask me?" he demanded.
"I needed to make sure the weasel hadn't managed to drag you under too," Nailer explained, "He's been sinking my ships with his tainted shit."
"I would become a beard model than stick his shit in my arm," Carter told him.
Nailer nodded.
"So who are you shipping to these days?" he asked.
"Doing the whole bit myself," said Carter, "Only as a bit on the side, mind. Couldn't keep all the cogs running the way you did. Just a nice little extra. Pays the child maintenance anyway," he joked.
"Yeah, right," Nailer laughed, "like anyone let you get close enough to procreate."
"I'm going up in the world, mate," Carter told him, "just watch. A year from now they'll be queuing up round the corner."
Nailer smiled, then his expression grew serious as he looked at Carter and asked,
"So who's Layton got on his side then? Where's he buying from? Who's been stupid enough to fall for his patter?"
Carter sighed.
"George Mason, that's a big one," he said, "never did have two brain cells to rub together. Must be getting a new shipment in tonight. "
"Where's he shipping to?" asked Nailer, "the usual place, or -?"
Carter shook his head.
"Moved it to his own spot," he explained, "some place he's worked before I think."
"Couldn't find me the details could you?" Nailer asked.
"If you promise not to give me any more bloody heart attacks," said Carter.
Nailer nodded as he watched him stand to fetch a pen and some paper to write down the location of Nailer's upcoming rendezvous. Mister Layton was going to discover that there are some people you just shouldn't mess with – and for his part, Nailer was really going to enjoy this.
~xXx~
2012
The hospital canteen never failed to deliver.
If you were hoping to buy the most disgusting food abominations in the universe, that is.
"Ugh, Ma'am, why did I let you talk me into this?" Kim asked as she stared at something that had been generically labelled 'cereal'. In honesty, it could have been anything. Kim remembered when she had a hamster as a child. The cereal seemed to resemble the stuff she would clean out of the cage once a week.
"You have to keep your strength up," Alex lectured, "I can see you staying here all day and god knows when else you'll eat."
"Keep my bloody strength up. That's all I'v heard since I cracked my bloody ribs," Kim complained.
Alex couldn't help smiling. For all she had been through and all she had matured, sometimes Kim still seemed like that moody young lady who arrived in Fenchurch East circa 1995.
"Someone needs to look after you without Robin around," Alex pointed out.
"More like you're getting some mothering practice in," Kim smiled.
Alex laughed gently as she leaned back and lifted the half-stale croissant she really didn't want to eat.
"Maybe a bit of both," she admitted.
Kim decided to forget the cereal and go for a chocolate bar instead.
"Sod this," she mumbled, biting into her Mars bar.
"That's not very nutritious," Alex pointed out.
"Neither were the chocolate biscuits you were putting away last night," Kim countered with a raised eyebrow.
"Touché," Alex smiled.
Kim sighed as she felt her eyelids growing heavy.
"You know, you can go home, Ma'am," she said, "I'll be fine. I might try to get some sleep. Poach one of the comfy chairs from the relatives' room and take it into Rob's room."
"That's alright," said Alex, "I don't want to abandon you. Besides," she pulled a face and put down the croissant, "I can hardly wait to see what they serve for lunch."
With a gag and a splutter Kim was about to speculate about what that might be but before she had a chance the sound of a distant alarm and some shouting caught her attention.
"What the hell is that?" she muttered, exchanging a glance with Alex.
"I don't –" Alex began as she caught sight of a security guard rushing by outside. Somewhere nearby a siren started to wail, and deep in the pit of her stomach Alex knew – somehow she just knew. "Layton," she whispered.
"What?" frowned Kim.
Alex didn't have time to explain. She got to her feet and beckoned Kim to follow her, rushing as fast as she could down the corridor in the direction of ICU. The closer they came to the unit, the more guards, doctors and officers they found.
"Shit," Kim muttered, "I think you might be right." She had her ID with her and approached a guard with it. "Can you tell us what's going on?" she asked.
The guard looked flustered.
"I don't know exactly," he said, "there was a prisoner from HMP Fenchurch brought in this morning. It seems he overpowered his guard and – somehow…" he shook his head and sighed as he stared at the exit.
"Shit," Kim cursed, closing her eyes. She turned to Alex whose eyes were wide as she waited expectantly. All Kim had to do was nod.
A shiver ran through Alex's body. She closed her eyes for a moment and let it wash over her. She had a very strange feeling that this was it. Somehow fate had lined up all the pawns and now the time had come to move them forward.
"This is it," she whispered.
Quite suddenly the air felt alive. Electric. Full of promise. As she stared at Kim she knew that worlds were drawing close together once again. The pathway home was clearing for her. All she had to do was allow Arthur Layton to lead her there in whatever way destiny demanded.
~xXx~
1997
Filing through the doorway of Gene's office one at a time, Gene, Robin and Simon contemplated all they'd discovered about Layton and his take-over attempt so far. The drive back had been fairly quiet with a lot of contemplation. All three of them agreed that getting Layton out of the business ASAP was paramount, but how it was going to help Alex get home no one could say for certain and that was the part that Gene was most concerned with.
As he threw his coat onto the side of his desk, he took a step backward and declared, with some alarm,
"Simon, why the buggering hell is me phone flashing at me?"
Simon glanced at the new machine the station had installed not long ago. Gene hadn't been very pleased, nor impressed, with the new addition to his office.
"That's voicemail," Simon said
"I don't care if it's male, female or talking turkey, what the hell is it flashing at me for?"
Simon closed his eyes briefly.
"Sorry," he said, realising voicemail was a far more modern term than he'd thought, "it's a message, You've got a message on your answerphone."
"I've got an answerphone?" Gene scowled.
"Well, yes," frowned Simon, "what did you think that bloody great lump was attached to your new phone?"
Gene shrugged and looked a bit award.
"Games console?" he guessed.
"Not quite," sighed Simon.
Gene stared at the flashing red light again.
"Shoebury, you'd better tell me how to stop this thing flashing at me before my office is mistaken for a knocking shop."
"Try playing your message?" sighed Simon.
"And how would I go about doing that?" Gene asked
"The play button is a good place to start," Simon pointed out. He leaned forward and took the liberty of pressing it himself since the whole saga looked to be turning into the telecommunication version of There's a Hole in my Bucket. Gene folded his arms and listened as the message started to play.
"I hear you've been asking around after Arthur Layton," – the start of the message made all three of them freeze and listen. They looked at one another, almost holding their breath, "well, you're not the only one. He's a dangerous one. He doesn't give a fuck. We've got people dropping like flies. This is no… way down the line, cutting shit. He's putting this in right at the top and he's screwing people over in every other way you can imagine. I fell for it the first time. Won't be happening again. If you want to stick his head on a spike I suggest you get down to Trinity Buoy Wharf. Midnight's his favourite time. Get him out of the loop – no one's going to miss that worm, not from your side nor mine."
There was silence as the message ended. Finally Robin bit his lip and asked,
"What… do you reckon the chances are of that being legit?"
Gene stared at the phone.
"With Arthur Layton's incredible popularity… I wouldn't rule it out," he said.
"Couldn't he have at least identified himself?" Simon asked.
"Shoebury, it's an anonymous tip-off," Gene pointed out, "not identifying himself is a large part of the process.
"Why does Trinity Buoy Wharf sound so familiar?" Robin pondered. He looked at Gene, "Where's my map."
"You mean yer map of geek?" asked Gene.
"Yes, that one," Robin conceded.
Gene took his coat from the desk anf began to rummage through the pockets until he found it and handed it back.
"One map of geek, colour coded for your viewing pleasure," he said.
Robin ignored the remark and unfolded the map. His eyes scanned along the river until he found what he was looking for and his heart sank.
"Oh no," he whispered.
Simon's anxiety peaked with those two quiet words.
"What?" he demanded.
"The barge," Robin explained quietly, "that's where the barge is… or at least, where the barge will be."
Gene's blood turned icy cold.
"Barge?" he repeated.
Robin nodded, his eyes cast downward.
"It's where he took Alex when he shot her," Robin explained.
Gene felt sick inside.
"I know," he said.
"And Keats used Layton's memories to take me and Kim hostage there," Robin said, his voice shaking slightly.
Gene took back the map and folded it carefully. He placed it back in his coat pocket before he regarded the other two men seriously.
"Suddenly our anonymous friend seems to have doubled his credibility," he said. "Gentlemen, you are cordially invited for An Evening With Arthur Layton; binoculars and scotch provided, please bring your own light snacks and other beverages of choice." His expression was stern and serious. He knew this was it. Time for showdown. "Go on, piss off – empty yer bladders, fill yet stomachs and be back here at eight." Robin and Simon nodded silently and began to move towards the door until Gene called one of them back with a call of, "Shoebury?"
Simon hesitated.
"What now?"
Gene pointed to his phone.
"Now I'm in the bloody red light district all the time," he said, pointing to the light that was no longer flashing and instead was emitting a static red glow.
"That's because you've got a message but it's not a new one," said Simon.
"So make it go away," Gene told him.
"You just have to rewind and press erase," said Simon.
"How does that happen?" Gene asked.
Simon rolled his eyes.
"For god's sake, try looking at the phone – or better yet, the instructions."
"You appear to be mistaking me for a man who presses buttons and knows how things 'work'," Gene informed him, "My job is to wear cowboy boots and look threatening. Yours is to handle the electrics."
"Electronics," Simon corrected.
"We're back to my X-Box and the plant-watering again," Robin muttered under his breath. He watched as Simon erased the message and stepped back with a slight flourish to indicate the light was no longer on.
"There," he said, "no more red light."
"And if it comes back?"
Simon groaned and marched to the door.
"Then try yelling at it," he said crossly, "that's how you usually deal with things, isn't it?"
"No need for the sarcasm, Simon," said Gene, "Anyone would think I got where I am today by shouting and throwing people against the office furniture."
Simon narrowed his eyes at Gene for a moment and shook his head.
"Come on," he muttered to Robin before he left the office, unaware that Gene was slightly smirking behind his back. After a day like he'd had, Gene felt he deserved some light entertainment – and winding Simon up usually managed to fit the bill.
~xXx~
One pair of prying eyes watched from a safe distance as Simon and Robin left the station together and began the short walk down the road to Simon's flat. He stayed hidden, sheltering in his car, blocking the view of his face with a magazine as they passed him by in sweet ignorance. With the window open a crack he could just about make out a small snippet of conversation.
"- been on a stakeout with Gene before?"
That was Robin's voice. Even if he hadn't recognised it consciously he would have realised as soon as he felt his blood starting to boil over.
"A few times," he heard Simon's voice reply, "if you're looking for tips then my advice is to bring air freshener and ear plugs and never mention squirrel costumes."
"What?"
"Long story."
As the pair passed beyond earshot he laid down his magazine and turned around to eye them from the rear window of the car. He felt a surge of darkness travelling through him again and gripped the seat as he breathed heavily. He'd been so happy to absorb all the darkness that the world would allow, for all that time, but this new turn of events was a step too far and he knew it. He'd been out of control earlier. The dark energy was controlling him instead of the other way around. It was time to fight that. He needed to get it back under control again and the only way to do that was to cut it off at the source.
He looked back out of the window. Robin and Simon had reached the door of the flat by now and Simon was looking for his key.
"You've got to go," he hissed, aiming his fingers at Robin like a gun and lining him up in his imaginary shot, "I can't say as I'll be terribly saddened by your loss."
A stakeout. That sounded ideal. Why not add one more bit of chaos to a night that would probably contain more action than Gene's entire collection of westerns? Play his cards right, he could get away from it scot free. Stray bullets can come out of nowhere every now and then, after all..
He turned back to the dashboard and started the engine of the car. It was time for a stakeout of his own. Jim Keats was going to get a handle on that energy that night. He was certain of it.
~xXx~
2012
"Where are we going?"
Once Layton's escape had been confirmed Alex had been surprised by Kim's swift burst of action. Surprised but, she had to admit, impressed. She had never seen DI Kim Stringer at work before. Her fast thinking and direct action were something of a revelation. The potential had always been there; Alex remembered moments from the nineties where Kim had shown resourcefulness and strength, but now she had the maturity and the drive to deliver.
However, her surprisingly impressive pace was not really compatible with a tired Alex and a heavy bump.
"We're going to the station," Kim told her.
"The station? Why?"
"This lot can go round in circles watching the same footage again and again but someone's got to get out there," Kim told her. She led Alex through the hospital car park and to the taxi rank beyond, "we'll pick up a car from the car pool. I'll speak to some people, get the latest news. We won't have to hear everything second-hand."
"Pick up a car – you're not allowed to drive yet," Alex began but Kim shook her head.
"Sod the ribs, this is important," she said.
As they climbed into a taxi and Kim used her ID to assure the driver he had permission to drive as fast as he liked – or, as the driver put it rather dramatically, "Can I break the motherfucking speed limit?" – she and Alex both mentally went over the events of the last half an hour or so.
They had been quickly absorbed into the mass of coppers and security as they established that Layton was no longer on the premises. They'd watched the CCTV footage with some horror as Layton fled from a fire exit, overpowered a doctor, took his clothes and car and fled the scene. While descriptions of the car and Layton himself had gone out quickly they knew he'd be dumping the car and clothes as soon as he could to replace them with something new to keep hidden and out of sight.
"What the hell is he going to do?" Alex hissed, "where's he going to go?"
"Well, he's got no friends," Kim pointed out, "no one to help him out. Either he'll turn to someone he has some dirt on for bribery to get the money he needs to disappear, or…"
Alex waited for her to finish.
"Or what?"
Kim could quite imagine the crazed, weakened, desperate Layton simply heading on a frantic rampage.
"It doesn't bear thinking about," she said quietly.
Alex looked at Kim seriously.
"He could go after people he knows," she said, "maybe people involved in the charges he's facing."
"Is that a tactful way of saying you and me?" Kim asked nervously.
Alex bit her lip.
"Not just us," she said, "What else did Keats do when he…" she glanced at the taxi driver. She realised she probably shouldn't finish that sentence. "You know."
Kim closed her eyes.
"Well, he paid Evan a 'visit'," she said, "he's probably in the safest place, in prison."
"What about Molly?" Alex felt a sudden panic wash over her.
Kim swallowed.
"While I organise things for us, you call her foster mother. I'll get an officer sent to their house for protection immediately." She closed her eyes as she realised something. "Shit, Robin… He could go after him. He's a sitting duck in hospital."
"He wouldn't go back there, surely," Alex frowned, "Wouldn't that be too risky?"
"He's not thinking straight," Kim said anxiously, "the charges… the things Keats did… he knows Robin's one of the main witnesses, he might decide it's worth the rtisk to pull the plug. Shit,"
"We'll call the hospital, increase security," Alex assured her.
Kim breathed in deeply.
"What a fucking mess," she whispered.
A silent look between them spoke of something so much deeper than any of the words they had exchanged. Something was building in the air. The anticipation was so strong and thick they could almost grasp it in their fingers.
The moment was coming.
~xXx~
Same old, same old.
Some things never changed.
There were certain street corners that Layton knew only too well. Once upon a time he'd been the one supplying the goods on that street. Then for very many years he'd been purchasing them.
He knew after what had happened the night before that this was not a good idea, but he had little to lose. His body was crying out for more. He wanted something… needed it… just a little. He wouldn't go overboard this time. He'd misjudged what he could take. This time he would limit himself, just enough to help him function, just enough to help him think more clearly. Just enough to give him a plan of action.
The daylight was still dim as he approached the figure. He must have bought from that dealer at least once a week for years, and yet the look of contempt on the man's face as Layton approached wasn't akin to someone who was about to greet a valued customer.
"You've got some nerve," he hissed.
Layton stared at him.
"I just need something," he said, "don't need much."
"You need a fucking bullet in the head," the dealer told him, moving away, "after everything you've done."
"That wasn't me!" Layton protested he was aware how childish and pathetic that sounded but it was the first thing that came to mind, "I know what they say I did but –"
"You want to watch yourself on the streets," the dealer hissed, "they're baying for your blood."
He turned to walk away but Layton needed the stuff. He needed what this guy had.
"Look, I've got…" he reached for the wallet he'd found in the doctor's pocket and looked inside, "I've got forty… fifty quid-"
"Don't you understand?" the dealer hissed over his shoulder, "your money is worth shit. Fuck off and die."
"I almost did," Layton hissed as he ran after the dealer and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him from leaving without selling him what he wanted but the dealer wasn't having any of that. He spun around and knocked Layton backwards with a punch.
"You're dead, Layton," The dealer hissed, "you took out some of Nailer's favourites. The streets are not going to welcome you back."
Layton was well aware of what he'd been 'alleged' to have done. The attacks and muggings on the dealers that made up some of his charges were things he had no recall of and knew he hadn't done. But since he was already going down for them –
"No harm in adding one more then," he spat, bouncing back with impressive speed, throwing a punch at the dealer and following it up with a foot in the guts. He was running out of strength and energy, his body still struggling from the overdose, but he wasn't going to let the damn man get away with the accusations he'd been making. If he was going to be accused of assaulting dealers on the street then he might was well make it real.
Stamping on the man's ribcage and listening to him howl in pain, he quickly grabbed what he could, despite the dealer's best attempts to protect both the goods and his money. Moments later Layton absconded with a handful of cash and a nice little treat for his veins, leaving coughing, spluttering flesh and bones behind in a pool of blood.
Where now? He tried to work out what to do as he rushed back to the car he'd stolen and climbed inside, his hands trembling and his vision starting to cloud over. He knew he couldn't go far – he needed a place to hide, to shoot up and to collect his thoughts. There was one location that came to mind. One place that he knew would be empty, deserted and offer him the time and shelter he needed. Like a homing pigeon returning to the coup he started the car and began to drive.
The river awaited with its decrepit shelter alongside it.
~xXx~
Worlds drew close together.
Figures moved in the same direction. Energy began to build and grow.
This was it.
"Home time," whispered Alex.
~xXx~
There is one thing that I would die for
It's when you say: "My life is in your hands"
'Cause when you're near me your love is all I need
Now I can't imagine
What do you want from me
It's not how it used to be
You've taken my life away
Ruining everything
What do you want from me
It's not how it used to be
You've taken my life away
Ruining everything
Give me something I can rely on
Far away from the life that I once knew
What does it matter, that's all I have to say
And I can't imagine
What do you want from me
It's not how it used to be
You've taken my life away
Ruining everything
What do you want from me
It's not how it used to be
You've taken my life away
Ruining everything
~ What Do You Want From me? – Monaco
~xXx~
A/N: The next chapter may take a few days to finish as the story reaches its climax (not its end though, there's going to be a lot still to sort out afterwards!) because it's going to be a very long chapter for which I apologise in advance! Hoping to post the next chapter on Monday at the latest x