Chapter 39
914 Words
39
It was at times like this that John Lucas wished he had his mobile with him. Although he’d tried to memorise the route, Google Maps would have come in very useful.
He’d left his phone at home, knowing the police would likely be able to trace him otherwise. For all he knew, they were already tracking his movements. He knew they wouldn’t have officers staking out the house, though. Not with budget cuts the way they were at the moment.
He’d picked a very specific route to Benjamin Newell’s house. After he’d managed to track down his home address through an associate, he’d worked out a route using an old Ordnance Survey map — a route which would minimise his chances of being seen on the way, either by human eyes or CCTV.
When he reached the corner of Newell’s road, he pulled the peak of his cap down, and pulled his hoodie tighter around his face, keeping his head low as he occasionally glanced up to check the house numbers. Once he’d got to number sixteen, he marched up the front path, took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
His head was buzzing, either from adrenaline or the half-bottle of whisky he’d drunk before coming here. He felt the muscles in his calves tensing and loosening as he bobbed on the spot, waiting for the front door of Benjamin Newell’s house to open.
He waited almost a minute, watching as the hall light came on and the figure behind the door fumbled with the keys before opening the door.
As the door opened, Lucas shoulder-barged his way in, shoved Newell backwards and kicked the front door shut behind him.
Newell scrabbled backwards, trying not to lose his footing as Lucas grabbed hold of the front of his polo-shirt and pulled him back through the house, into the kitchen.
Lucas shoved him up against the kitchen worktop, Newell’s head banging on the bottom of an overhead cupboard, as Lucas brought his face in close.
‘Come on then. What the f**k’s this all about? What the f**k are you playing at?’
‘Me?’ Newell replied, almost shrieking. ‘You’ve just barged into my f*****g house! What am I meant to have done?’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about,’ Lucas sneered, the whisky fumes hitting Benjamin Newell square in the face. ‘What is it? You still can’t get over the fact you had a few months in the slammer for being thick enough to get caught? Listen. I did nearly eleven years. Eleven years.’
‘You shot a f*****g copper in the face!’ Newell yelled.
‘Yeah, and I did my time. But hey, if I hadn’t done that, you wouldn’t have done any time at all, would you? You would’ve had a fifty quid fine for driving without insurance. And that’s what you couldn’t let go, isn’t it? You couldn’t handle that you were up to your neck in it just as much as the rest of us.’
Newell tried to squirm free of Lucas’s grip, but it was impossible. The man was pushing him hard against the kitchen units, the bevel of the worktop digging into the bottom of his back. He felt around behind his back with his hands, trying to do so without Lucas noticing.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ Newell said, Lucas’s grip tightening.
‘Don’t make me f*****g laugh. Someone’s tried setting me up big time here. I know it wasn’t Bruno. He had no reason to. So who else is there? Oh yeah. How about the guy who blames me for him having to do bird?’
Newell’s hands rested on the knife block behind him, and he felt around for the biggest carving knife he could as his eyes locked with Lucas’s.
‘Me, blame you? Don’t flatter yourself, mate. You’re the one who’s spent the last eleven years whingeing about how you were going to do Footloose over the second you got out.’
‘Yeah, and didn’t you just know it. Perfect cover for you, eh? You knew the filth would be straight round to my gaff. Had it all worked out, didn’t you?’
Lucas moved his right hand up and gripped Newell’s throat, squeezing tightly.
Newell took his chance. In one smooth movement, he pulled the carving knife out of the block and brought it round, aiming to pull it straight into John Lucas’s back.
Lucas spotted the movement just in time and used his arm to block Newell’s movement. As the knife went clattering to the floor, Lucas grabbed hold of Newell’s polo shirt again and pulled him sideways, using his right foot to swipe his legs in the opposite direction.
Within a second, Lucas was on top of him and had him pinned to the floor as Newell groped around for the knife.
‘Oh, you want this, do you?’ Lucas said, reaching for the knife and pinning each of Newell’s arms down with his knees. ‘You’ve realised setting me up didn’t work, so now you’re going to kill me. Is that it?’ Lucas had the point of the knife right in Newell’s face. One slight slip, and there’d be bloodshed.
‘I’m telling you. I didn’t set you up. I was getting married, for f**k’s sake! I’ve had it with all that. It’s in the past. I’ve not done nothing like that in years. I’ve got a wife — had a wife — and I wouldn’t get involved with anything like that. I swear!’
‘Yeah? And why should I believe you?’
‘Because it’s the truth!’
‘Well you’re the only person who’d want to set me up like that. I haven’t spent my life trying to make enemies, you know. I’ve tried to get along, tried to make myself some money, tried to make a name for myself. Tried to do my old mum proud. There is no-one — no-one — who’d try to pin something like this on me. So that just leaves one possibility, doesn’t it?’
Newell swallowed hard. He didn’t know what Lucas was getting at. ‘What?’
‘You think I did it, don’t you?’
Newell looked Lucas in the eyes and said nothing.
- Writer
