Chloe - Never Forget

1 Jim the dogsbody. A man with a van. Cleaner of other people’s dirty work. Main line of business? Men. Bad men. Men he couldn’t care less about. Men who deserved to die. But a woman? And more to the point, a woman he’d respected. A brave woman who’d deserved better than to be fried like a kipper. She peered down at a man in uniform, his face youthful and lean. The glossy black-and-white finish to the print dated it seventies or early eighties. She knew who the officer was – and why these men wanted him. His name was Tanner. Frank Tanner. At least, that was his name in 1984. A good cop. And what is more, a witness, like her, to wicked men like her captors. He lifted the corpse into the back of his van, the smell of muck heavy in the air, sheep bleating in the fields beyond. He hated farms. The smells, the remoteness, the stinking countryside peopled by weirdos crying ‘tally-ho’ while brandishing horse whips. People like those two thugs who’d employed him on the job, sent him to this desolate shithole. Sheepshaggers. Jim was no sheepshagger. He was a city boy. Through and through. And he guessed she’d been a city girl. Thoughts wormed through patches of fertile soil in the woman’s shattered mind before she cottoned on. Chloe had discovered the whereabouts of this ex-policeman, anticipating future events like the true genius she’d proven to be, and now these men were searching for him – and her – out of fear the twain should meet and conspire against them. Never before had he felt sorry for a victim of his murky trade. Even when faced with certain doom, the way she’d acted so blasé struck Jim as superhuman. Could he have coped with such t*****e? Of one thing Jim had no doubt – he still had the stomach for the job. Tough-guy John had offered his usual excuses. He had a bad back; besides, he was taking his lass out; besides, he had a debt to settle with a bookie. But Jim knew the real reason. One more look at death, one mere smell of it, was all his buddy needed to depart with the fish butty rumbling in his tummy. The woman didn’t try to suppress the Cheshire-cat grin spreading across her bleeding face. Chloe had found her man, and protected him from certain recrimination at the hands of Ray-Bans and Baseball Cap. He still had the heart for the job too, though recent events had forced him to question his customary hard-nosed attitude to the waste products of his profession. Ironically, that same protection wasn’t afforded to herself. The t*****e she was suffering bore the prickly truth that her dear Chloe was prepared to put anyone at risk, including her closest guardian, family and friends, in the pursuit of justice. But there was no bad taste in the captive’s mouth. Chloe was a true heroine. She’d cared for nothing but the ultimate truth. How could it be right for two grown men to s*******r a frail bird? His employers troubled Jim. He’d done jobs for them before – beatings, reprisals; his stock in trade – but this time they’d gone too far. They’d promised a clean outcome, but they’d lied. They’d made him and John look stupid. And now Jim couldn’t look the lassie in the face, even though she wasn’t staring back. With a smooth motion the younger man grabbed her by the throat, lifting her chair over, and now standing astride her, his right foot firmly crushing her rib cage, he wedged the Taser between her thighs and pulled the trigger. Her lower half twisted and threshed helplessly as he gradually guided the stun g*n upwards. Then he tilted it ninety degrees before shoving it up her, blood streaming in all directions like some macabre reconstruction of a baby being born. She’d never stare again. A true heroine. And no bad-looking lassie either, considering her present state. Although Jim was the kind of guy who had s*x on the brain every minute of the day, right now all he felt was a deep rush of admiration that made his hairs stand on end. He shook his head and tried to blot out the memory of the horrors he’d just witnessed. The woman may’ve suffered an undignified death, but she’d damn well receive an honourable burial. The baby cried, cried, cried some more, cried herself silly in her cradle of tangled wood and rope. At last, the crying stopped. Jim hauled the inert bag into the van and held his breath. Slammed the back doors shut.