John Steel Collection - Books 4-6

Chapter 10-1

At Four in the morning, the garbage men and cops doing their own kind of patrol. Sirens wailed as fire engines, and ambulances travelled to emergencies around the city. The city that never sleeps was right; there was always something going on. Yellow cabs made their way with tourists fresh from JFK or businesspeople heading for that early meeting. The city was bathed in a mix of bright multi-coloured lights from stores, delis and restaurants. It would be hours yet until the sun would brake over the horizon. Soon the dullness would be replaced by bright ochre, and the city would come alive. The day before the weather girl had predicted: “Sunny spells and highs in the fifties.” Joggers got an early start, and so did the paper delivery service.

McCall’s alarm let out its usual loud serenade of BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. Her arm snaked from under the covers like a mythical beast, then slammed down on the off button before disappearing back under the covers. There was a three-minute pause before the second alarm went off. She groaned disapprovingly, then crawled out of her warm bed. She needed coffee and a shower. Sometimes she wished someone would invent a showerhead that would give out coffee instead of water for those early mornings. But soon changed her mind as she smelt the aroma coming from the kitchen as her coffee machine switched on, using the timer.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP. She poured the first cup of coffee and headed for the bathroom. McCall leaned in and switched on the shower before slipping out of her shorts and T-shirt. She stood there looking at her slightly tanned firm figure. She had the body of a supermodel from Sports Illustrated. She kept fit by training with her kickboxing instructor every Tuesday and Thursday.

Sports IllustratedMen dreamt about her, and so they should—that was her power over them. But she was a damn good cop, and she would never let her looks take precedence over her abilities as a detective. She had worked hard for her position and then she worked even harder and got the due respect for it. Sure, she had been passed over by others she had joined with because they were men, but she didn’t mind because they ended up riding a desk and doing what they were good at kissing ass.

Sam reached up to her left shoulder and touched the scar she had got a year ago. A mercenary had shot her, for him to draw out Steel. McCall could still hear the screams of the man after Steel had gotten hold of him. It had been their first case together and what a ride that was.

McCall stepped into the shower and let the warm water cascade over her athletic body. She closed her eyes and leant against the tiled wall with outstretched arms. The water was relaxing to the point where she wanted to stay there all day. But she had work to do, and she owed it to Tony to find his girlfriend’s killer.

She dried off and dressed in a grey trouser suit with a blue blouse. Her Gabor boots were almost flat-bottomed with a slight heel, which enabled her to run. She had tried heels, but they just slowed her down.

Pulling on the suit jacket, McCall headed for the front door and the dresser next to it. Opening the right-hand drawer, she pulled out her custom Glock 17 and her shield. Tucking the brushed steel pistol into the holster under her jacket, she grabbed her keys and headed out.

* * *

Walter T. Hobbs walked out of his apartment building. He was a small man with a large balding head that had tufts of black hair clinging to the sides. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on a fat nose, giving him the appearance of a school physics teacher. He wore a black suit with a green tie and brown brogue shoes.

Behind him, he dragged the wheeled suitcase towards the curb. The doorman raised a gloved hand to flag down an approaching cab. Walter pulled out a ten-dollar note for the man’s trouble, which was snapped up and tucked away before anyone else saw it.

“Where you goin, buddy?” asked the cabby as Walter sat on the long back seat. The doorman shut the door behind Walter and doffed his hat as the cab sped away. At that moment Walter noticed two large men in black suits enter his building, and he knew they were there for him.

“JFK if you would, please hurry,” Walter said, taking note of the man’s credentials that were on the dashboard. His eyes scanned the driver for a moment. Walter noted the man’s lumberjack shirt and blue padded vest, which resembled a life preserver.

He smiled happily to himself then let his gaze fall to the outside, the passing streets and pedestrians, his thoughts a million miles away.

“So, you are going anywhere nice?” the black cabby asked, his dreadlocks dangling from under his multi-coloured woollen cap.

“What – sorry, I was miles away, I’m off to see my aunt in Portugal. She is very ill, poor dear,” Walter said convincingly, almost as if he had rehearsed it a thousand times just in case the line was needed.

“Wow, Portugal,” the cabbie replied, shouting back through the plated dividing screen. “Never been there myself but I have heard it is very beautiful.”

Walter took a handkerchief from his inside pocket and removed his glasses to clean them. Beads of perspiration were beginning to form on his forehead.

The cab’s passenger used the white cotton handkerchief on his moist forehead, then put his small spectacles back on. He took a deep breath, exhaled and sat back in the seat. He glanced out through the window again. He knew the turn-off for the airport would soon be coming up and then he would be home free. A panic ran through his body as he noticed they had gone past the exit. Walter leaned forward and tapped on the safely glass that separated them.

“Hey, you missed the exit!” Walter screamed.

The driver shook his head and smiled. “No, man, I saw it. It’s just that Mr Williams said he wanted to say goodbye before you left.”

Walter’s head began to spin. He tried the door handles, but the deadbolt was on.

He was trapped, and he was on the way to see a madman.

The worried man knew at that moment that he would be going on a trip, just not the one he wanted. The cab’s interior began to spin, and he fell into darkness as he lost consciousness. The cabbie mumbled curses to himself as he tossed his Taser to one side. He had been waiting all through the trip to use it and then that loser of an accountant had gone and fainted. He picked the Taser back up and Tasered Walter anyway, just out of spite.

He smiled and drove on into Brooklyn. Walter had an appointment, and Mr Williams didn’t like to be kept waiting.

* * *

Walter T. Hobbs awoke to the sound of voices. Voices that seemed to be muffled, as if they were far away, or on the other side of a door. Everything seemed blurred and distorted, and everything seemed dark.

He tried to lift his hand to check his glasses but found that he could not move. He was being held down by something. His senses had been shot as a result of an electric shock. He tried to struggle but gave up after a few minutes. He was strapped to a table, a cold metal table.

Walter’s heart began to race as he realised where he was. He stopped moving and listened. The room was silent, but he knew he wasn’t alone. Heavy impacts struck the floor as someone large entered the room.

“Mr Hobbs, our employer, would like to know where it is,” said a deep angry voice.

“I don’t know what you mean. Where is what?” Walter screamed, tears of fear running down his face. He was glad of the darkness, for he didn’t want to see anything.

“Some merchandise came in a couple of days ago, very important merchandise. Now it’s missing, and unfortunately, only a few people knew about it. So, you see my problem … Well actually, your problem right now,” said the voice.

“I don’t know! Really, I don’t. If you mean Tuesday’s shipment, I made sure it was secure,” Walter answered.

“So why were you in such a rush to get out of the country, Mr Hobbs?” The mystery voice sounded calm but authoritative.

“My aunt, she’s sick. I was—”

“—Blah, blah, blah,” the voice interrupted. “You really expect me to believe the coincidence that your aunt is sick the same week that information goes missing?” The man was now yelling loudly, and Walter knew that his time was up.

“Look, tell us what we want to know, or else Mr Williams is coming in, and believe me you don’t want that.” The man’s voice almost sounded cheerful at the prospect.

Walter had heard things about Mr Williams: bad things. He would perform unspeakable acts on people that weren’t even worth thinking about. He wasn’t a butcher. He was a surgeon, an artist some said. Either way, if you ended up on his table, your experience would be long and painful.

“Please! I don’t know anything,” Walter cried out.

The footsteps walked away, and Walter began to shake.

He heard a door open, and then after a time, it closed again. Then he heard something. A sound that chilled him to the bone. Music, soft music from a music box or … a pocket watch.

Mr Williams was there.

Walter began to shake uncontrollably. The music grew near, and the sound of metal-tipped shoes on a tiled floor echoed around the room.

Both sounds were moving around him, as though he was being circled. He wanted to cry out to ask who was there, but in another part of his mind, he didn’t want to know. The tapping grew slower until finally, it stopped, and so did the music. There was a silent click as the watch was closed and put away. Then came a voice that made Walter nearly soil himself: it was a voice like knives on violin strings:

“Hello, Mr Hobbs. My name is … Well, they call me Mr Williams. I don’t know why, but for what they pay me they can call me Susan and stick me in a leather corset for all I care.”

Walter felt puzzled at the man’s apparent joviality. Mr Williams was softly spoken, but his tone raised and lowered with each word. However, his voice ground like nails on a chalkboard.

“I don’t know anything!” Walter pleaded. “I did what I was asked, and then I locked it away.”

The footsteps tapped slowly, as though Williams was thinking as he walked.

“My colleague said you were fleeing the country,” Williams spoke softly.

The sound of metal sliding against metal filled Walter’s ears.

“My aunt is sick, she has cancer. I was off to see her.” Walter’s voice was filled with fear and defeat. He knew whatever he said they would not believe.

“Oh, I am sorry. I had no idea. There must have been a terrible mistake, I do apologise,” Williams said, and the tone of sincerity rang in Walter’s ears. But he felt more afraid than ever. He felt the sudden weight of someone on top of him, but the darkness revealed nothing.

“OK, so can I go now?” Walter said, taking a chance in that moment.