SO COLD
The night sky was pitch-black, clear of clouds. It was midnight, the clock struck twelve and the streets were deserted and bitingly-cold. An empty can of pop clattered noisily down a stretch of black tarmac, on a lonely stroll. Wind howled. The ambiance was electrifying.
The black transit van had a magnetic sign on either side of the doors. It was a logo of a non-existing plumbing company with a spanner grinning cheerfully and promising cheap, competitive prices. The van was stationary opposite Arnold Pearce's home. Inside, behind the wheel was Trevor in jeans and a ratty t-shirt. He had a toothpick in his mouth and his dirty fingernails tapped rhythmically on the wheel. On his laptop was a tablet with a street view on the screen. "Like always, three hundred and sixty seconds as soon as you've stepped out. Don't waste a second."
Irvin and I were clad in black. From bottom to top: patrol boots made of leather, combat trousers, a lightweight jacket that was heavy with stuffed pockets, tactical gloves and a paintball mask that completely covered the face, neck and our ears. I carried a tranquiliser gun and Irvin wore a rucksack and we were both strapped with semiautomatics with an extended clip and a silencer.
Our expressions were serious and grim. We had one take and although we had done this three times in the last month, it was still nerve-wrecking. Anything could go wrong. There were a lot of variables even though we'd been over routines, the house layout, the weather, and the neighbourhood. It was extensive work but it was a necessity. Safety was important and we needed to minimise all possible risks.
I took four deep, calming breaths. Level-headed. Steady. Focussed. Static crackled in my ear and I heard Trevor's voice as if he was right beside me. "Countdown. Five. Four. Three. Two. One." The tablet went blank. Cameras were off.
Gripping the door handle, I slid open the van sliding doors and jumped out. Stealthily, and like wildfire, we got across the street in a handful of seconds. There was going to be no explosive break-in. No smashing of glass. Nothing suspicious that would raise eyebrows and the dialling of 9-9-9 tomorrow morning. Irvin inserted a skeleton key, twisting the lock, and pushing open the door. He darted ahead, vanishing. "Room one. Clear." He transmitted. "Room two. Clear."
I rounded the corner, grip secure on the handle of the gun. I paused with my foot on the bottom of the stairs, flattening myself against the wall as a shadow passed overhead. "Target is on the move. Possible retreat..." I kept my voice low, ready to abandon the mission if Arnold twisted around to head in my direction. He was on the landing upstairs in cotton-blue pyjamas. "Steady. Steady." I warned Irvin to stay still.
"Room three. All clear. Heading back now. Be aware." Irvin relayed of his presence to avoid any sudden surprises and squeezed triggers.
Trevor dispatched. "Forty seconds gone. What is your position?"
"Change of plans. Target will come to us. Be aware, partner." I passed on, moving across the hallway to the door of a closet. I opened silently and slipped in, keeping the door open slightly. "Ready to take the shot?"
"In position. Whenever you're ready." Irvin broadcasted, crouched down beside the open doorway of the dining room, beside the table, a dark blur in the shadowy room.
I raised a gloved hand and knocked thrice. Silence. And then footsteps heading down the stairs and a disgruntled grumble. "Who the hell is at the door at this time of night?"
I waited, aware of my surroundings. His loud breathing in the quiet house, the huffs, the exhales from his nostrils. His figure marched past my door and in that split second, I knocked again. Quieter this time. He paused, cocked his head. "What the hell?" Confusion was evident on his face and he frowned deeply, brows furrowed. He shoved his glasses on his face and stared intently at the closet door. Just as he reached for the handle, Irvin fired. The tranquiliser dart hit him on the square of his back and was fast spreading and effective. He toppled to the ground in an unconscious heap.
"Target is acquired. Wrapping up now." I let Trevor know as I stepped out of the closet and closed the door.
Irvin had nimble fingers and took out the rope from his backpack and tied his feet together as I handcuffed his hands behind his back. "Ready?" I asked, looking at him. "We're all set to go, Trevor. What is the street view?"
"All clear. Engine is running. The doors are open. Whenever you're ready."
Irvin opened the front door and rushed back to hoist Arnold up by his ankles as I put my hands under his armpits and lifted. He wasn't a heavy man, thankfully. We got out of the door and across the street in little to no time, and pushed him in the back of the van. I got in and Irvin darted across the road to close the front door and then returned. The door was slammed shut and Trevor pulled away from the curb, speeding up down the road. "Congratulations," he met our gazes through the rear view mirror. "That was your fastest time ever. A great improvement from the clusterfuck shit-show that was your first time."
I pulled off my mask and wiped a hand across my forehead. "We have five hours to get rid of him and then we move on to the next name. We have no time to waste so speed up, Trevor."
Twenty minutes later and Trevor was hosing down the van in his garage. Arnold Pearce was tied down in the damp and wet basement (which was a scene out of a horror movie, Trevor really knew how to decorate a place) and Irvin and I were sat in the kitchen, eating cold pasta and chicken.
Irvin had his laptop in front of him, he was designing a new magnet for the van. The old one was discarded. It would be stupid to reuse. Street cameras likely picked up the van and if deemed fishy, we would be screwed if we were stopped by cops the next time we were out.
I was going through the profile of the next target. Simon Garner. He was a school-teacher, a family man. His 'mug-shot' (a blurry, passing-by photo of him) revealed a hefty man with tattooed arms. His hair was in a pony-tail and his wife (well, who I presumed to be his wife) was a stick-skinny figure with mousey hair beside him, mouth open.
His name was given up by the last target after an extreme hour of torture courtesy of Trevor who spilled more blood than was necessary. He practically bathed in it and he'd returned with a pleased grin, skin stained red and eyes gleaming. "He's all yours," he had said and disappeared to jerk off to the memory in his bedroom. It was toe-curdling but it was the price to pay for his services and silence. We couldn't do it without Trevor: he was the taxi and clean-up crew.
My mobile phone buzzed and vibrated from where it was on the countertop. Irvin glanced over. "Who is it?"
"An unknown number," I picked up, curious and wary. "Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"Cole," I gritted my teeth, tried not to groan, sharing a look with Irvin. I forced myself to be pleasant. "What's up? Is this a booty call? If so, I'm going to have to politely decline. I'm asleep. You woke me up."
"I asked you a question. Where are you?" he demanded angrily.
"Home, I told you. In bed. What's irritating your ass on this mighty fine day?"
"I'm in your goddamn house. I've checked the rooms, you and Irvin are not here."
"We're playing hide-and-go-seek."
"I'm not in the mood for your shit. Tell me where you are."
"This is becoming a habit. First you bulldoze your way back into my life and demand to have dinner and now you're late-night calling? What's wrong, Cole? Lost your teddy bear? I'm flattered by your concern. Really. I am. But fuck off. I don't need to tell you what I'm doing."
"Equipment has gone missing from James' place. I suspect you and the thief you're always with. Where the hell are you, Shay?"
"Irvin is a changed man. He's been attending AA meetings. He doesn't steal anymore."
Irvin shot me a look of confusion and I twisted my expression at him. I continued on to say. "I'm going through a tunnel. You're breaking up with me. I'm losing signal. Can't see ...anymore. The world is ...on fire. Bye."
Cole called back almost immediately after I hung up on him. "I'll knock on everyone's door until I find out where you are. Don't make me come and look for you, Shay."
"You're in the running for being the Creepiest Man of the Year. Congratulations. On a serious note, I have no idea where your equipment is." I said even as I began untying the boots Irvin and I stole. "But since you're so adamant, I'll come to the house and let you strip-search me. I'm feeling tingly already. We're going to have a good time." I laughed. "Sorry. That was wrong."
"You don't need to make the drive. I'll come and meet you. Where are you?" he was a crafty bastard.
"Uh..." Quickly thinking, I said the name of a fast-food place opened 24/7. "Should I order you some food while I wait for you to arrive? Cole? Hello? Fuck. He hung up on me. Shit. I need to get out of these clothes and into my own and get there before he does." I tugged my boots off and yanked my trousers down. "Don't let Trevor down to the basement. Keep him at bay. I'll be back as soon as I get rid of Cole. Where the hell are my jeans? I'm getting late." I changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and grabbed the car keys, stuffed my phone into my pocket. Remembering the earpiece, I ripped it out. "I'll call you when I'm on my way back. Text me if there's a problem."
"Relax. Don't have sex with him. And drive safe. See you later."
I closed the front door after me.
**