Cog in the Machine Page 8

  Chapter 25

  The Tall Man strolled along the high street, a full head above the average Joe in the crowds. It was a busy Wednesday afternoon. The pavements were crammed with eager shoppers, frustrated workers, and irritating teenagers on their way home from either school or college. Luckily for the Tall Man, his advantage gave him a clear view in all directions. He could see everything and everyone around him. There wasn’t much that could get past him or that he couldn’t anticipate.

  Deep in a jeans pocket, a mobile phone vibrated.

  “Hello.” The screen displayed a withheld number but he answered it anyway. The majority of his calls were deemed private or withheld by his service provider. Most of his contacts used encrypted numbers or disposable ‘burner’ mobiles that would be quickly discarded after a particular job was completed.

  “Is the job still on?”

  “What job?” The Tall Man deliberately played dumb.

  “You know – the job – the container job?” The voice at the end of the line was irritated. They knew the game but weren’t in the mood to play.

  “As far as I know.”

  “This is your job - your big score. Why do you not know for certain?”

  “Things were set in motion some time ago. There have been one or two changes to the plan - most of it’s still the same. As far as I know, everything is set for about a week’s time and that’s all I need to know.”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line. “I heard that there could be a complication.”

  This time, the Tall Man paused. Not because he was thrown at the thought of a problem, but because he was picking his words carefully. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that their conversation was being recorded. It was even more possible that the person on the other end of the line could be part of the complication, if not the whole of it. The Tall man trusted very few people.

  “I am prepared for anything,” he said.

  “Someone is going to try and steal the goods before arrival or on arrival.”

  “Like I said, I am prepared for anything.”

  “I hope you’ve arranged for some armed g-.”

  “I do not think this is an appropriate conversation to be having right now. All I shall say is that I have the situation under control. We are prepared for all eventualities and as far I know, the job will be successful. Now, this conversation is over. Understand?”

  “I understand.”

  The Tall Man closed the line without another word. He didn’t need one of his many minions crying conspiracy and doubting the plan was credible. Everything the Tall Man did was meticulously thought through. If there were any weak components, there would be an alternative or a back-up. The Tall Man was thorough.

  Putting the phone back into his jeans pocket, he carried on weaving his way through the throng, minding his own business while trying to conjure up hypothetical scenarios that could affect his life-changing plan.

  Ten yards back, hidden by the masses, watchful eyes followed the Tall Man. He wasn’t hard to see. Even on a busy day.

  Step for step, the observer stalked his quarry, careful not to be seen.

  The Tall Man saw everything. He missed nothing. The phone was pulled out once more. The call was made. An order given.

  Within minutes, the shadow was intercepted. Within a few more, the man who had been paid to follow the Tall Man was lying unconscious in a back alley, beaten to the point of death.

  The Tall Man took no prisoners.

  Chapter 26

  After a disappointing end to the previous night, Dom kept his head down at work. He was tucked away in a corner of the warehouse in a stock quarantine zone.

  Quarantine was an area where returned and faulty machinery was held, mostly to be used for spare parts but occasionally the machines could be built into reconditioned machines and sold via eBay or the onsite shop. Dom had been tasked with repairing some water-damaged and corroded lawnmowers. It suited his mood to keep himself occupied and away from the other workers for a day.

  The news came on the radio, telling him it was eleven o’clock. Time for a break.

  Dom peeled off the blue nitrile gloves he wore to protect his hands from the oil and rust of cleaning corroded flywheels.

  Resting on a battered plastic chair, coffee from a flask in hand, Dom listened to the gloomy news. He had the radio on to break up the monotony of the warehouse noise. Whirring forklifts and the sound of clattering pallet trucks were interspersed with the crackle of walkie-talkie chatter and the occasional yell of one unseen colleague shouting instructions to another. Music was a sanctuary, but the news compounded the darkness of his mood.

  Reaching for a fresh pair of gloves, he noticed Richards approaching out of the corner of his eye.

  “Have you got a minute, Dom?” The tone was light.

  “Sure.” Dom could sense there was something coming his way. He had had a feeling that maybe he was being prepped for something - in his first couple of weeks at Mach Tech, his contact with Richards had been at the morning briefing or at an end of week feedback catch-up, but that was about it. In the last two weeks, there had been idle chats, deep conversations, and the eventual drive of the BMW. Someone like Richards going out of their way to interact with a newbie like him had to mean something.

  Richards led the way toward an unused portion of the warehouse. There were several doors leading to rooms that were never opened. Each door had a padlock. Dom had never questioned what happened in these rooms. They were just rooms in a warehouse.

  But now, stopping outside the furthest door, Richards turned toward Dom.

  “Now, I know you’ve just gotten out of prison, and I know you don’t want to go back there again, but…” There was a long pause after that ‘but.’

  “Go on.”

  “Well, I want to ask you to do something, but it’s not entirely legal.”

  “You don’t want me to kill your wife or anything?” said Dom with a smile.

  Richards chuckled in response. “Nothing that drastic, but I’ve something that could be very lucrative for you if you decided to do it.”

  “What do you need me to do?”

  “I need you to drive.”

  Dom nodded. “What’s the coin?”

  Richards understood the question.

  “Five figures.”

  “What’s the first number?”

  “A one, you greedy bastard,” Richards laughed, although there was a serious air about him.

  “What’s the job?”

  “Best I show you.”

  Fumbling in his jeans pocket, Richards pulled out a bunch of keys. He flipped through several of them before finding the right one. Slipping it into the padlock, he popped the lock and removed it from the latch.

  “What I show you in here is to go no further. Do you understand?”

  Dom nodded. He was eager to see what lay within the room that clearly wasn’t just a room in a warehouse after all.

  Richards turned the handle and pushed open the door.

  The answer to the question was ‘Yes!’ Dom hadn’t seen the job yet, but looking into the room, he knew he just had to do it.

  Chapter 27

  With eyes wide like a child on Christmas day who had received everything they had asked for and so much more, Dom stood silent. He was in awe.

  “What do you think?” Richards asked, clearly aware of the effect.

  “I think I may have pissed my pants,” he joked.

  Within the room was a car. It was another BMW M3 sport. This one was race-prepared. Lightweight alloy wheels sporting racing slicks, exposed brake discs with bright red brake shoes. The stripped back interior had a single Recaro driving seat with nylon webbing harness surrounded by a steel roll cage. The paintwork was white but it was difficult to tell due to the many sponsor logos covering every inch of the carbon fibre panels; most of the logos were for Mach Tech Ltd.

  “Do you think you can handle it?”

  Dom didn’t answer st
raight away. He walked up to the race car and placed his hand on the bonnet. It was cold to the touch, but somehow it warmed his soul. Somewhere in his subconscious, he could hear the roar of the silent engine, feel the throb of the motionless pistons, and imagine the inertia of the stationary vehicle.

  “Can it handle me?” Dom whispered, a wry smile tugging up the corners of his mouth.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “What’s the deal? Why do you need me to drive it?”

  “We have a team to enter twenty-four hour races and we are light by one man.”

  “Do you win the races?” Dom asked.

  “It’s not about the winning; it’s about the taking part.” Richards was evasive.

  “So that’s a ‘No’ then.”

  “Our guys are good, but I feel they aren’t as good as you.”

  “When?”

  “There’s a race in a few days.” Richards walked around the car to where Dom stood.

  “That’s not a lot of time to prepare. I’ll need to practice.”

  “How about tonight?”

  Dom looked at Richards as though he were stupid, “Do you have a race track out back too?”

  “No, but if you need to practice driving, I can provide you with a vehicle similar to this one. It’ll be all yours until the race day.”

  Dom needed to pinch himself. A little over a week ago he was just a company minion. Now, he was being given a car to drive and an opportunity to take part in a race.

  “Can I just drive? Don’t I need a racing licence or something?”

  “It will be taken care of.”

  Eyebrows raised, Dom shot a glance toward his manager as if this was some kind of joke.

  “Is this the illegal part? Will I be driving on a fake licence?”

  “Something like that.”

  Dom nodded. He’d done his time. Paid his dues. Didn’t want to hurt anyone, didn’t want trouble.

  He ran his hand over the bonnet of the car.

  This car, though… This car was a thing he wanted, and wanted badly. Needed, almost – he knew, instinctively, it would help blow away the boredom he’d felt since getting out. Warehouse work was fine – it paid for ribs and cider and charity shop DVDs. It would never pay for a thing like this. And he was a driver. He could do the warehouse work, but in his heart and soul, he belonged behind a wheel.

  This wheel.

  “Tell you what,” said Dom. “How about we forget you just told me that?”

  Richards chuckled again, nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “Let’s.”

  “So where’s the car for me to take home?”

  Richards walked toward a roller shutter on the wall opposite the door. He pressed the button with an ‘Up’ arrow and the shutter started to clank slowly upwards. Inch by painfully slow inch, the shutter revealed a negative image of the race car. In the next room was the same car but with a matt black paint job, matt black alloys, blacked-out windows. If it was possible for a car to exude aggression without moving, this was it.

  Richards dangled a pair of keys.

  “Can I go home early?” Dom said, snatching the keys. He wasn’t joking.

  Chapter 28

  Dom was disappointed not to have the rest of the day off, but he was beyond grateful to be allowed to use the high-spec car as his own personal run-around while preparing for the race.

  Richards had also advised him of a disused industrial site that had open stretches of tarmac he could practice on. He promised to check it out.

  The end of day siren rang out just as he was packing away his workstation. It had been a good day. He had had a full day away from his colleagues, which suited his mood. He had been given use of a car, and what a car, and he was going to be racing. The day couldn’t get any better.

  Making his way through to the washroom to scrub up and grab his gear from a locker, his mind was completely focused on driving. Usually, he was the only one who used the downstairs washroom. Most of the other guys kept their bags with them and would wash their hands in the toilets. Dom wanted to keep a distance between him and his colleagues. There was the occasional friendly chat but that was as much as he would commit to on a daily basis. And because of his habit of using the vacated washroom, he was surprised to find someone in it.

  “Look, I’m sorry I ducked out of last night.” Georgia stood in the centre of the room, dressed in her usual black business wear, but without the high visibility vest. Her head was slightly bowed, as though she were disappointed in herself.

  “Hey, no problem,” Dom smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry my brother was being a dick. I understand it was a bit awkward. Maybe we’ll get another chance someday?”

  “I hope so.” Her head lifted. “There’s something I like about you and I’ve yet to figure out what it is.”

  Dom laughed. “Maybe it’s my rugged good looks and winning personality?”

  “No, it’s that delusion you live under – it’s so endearing.” Pursing her lips tightly, she could not stop the giggle from escaping.

  “That must be it.” He joined her in the joke.

  “So, what are you doing tonight?”

  “I’m supposed to be trying out a car up at the Severn Gate industrial estate.”

  “Really? That sounds boring.” She scrunched her face, mocking him.

  “Have you ever been in a car with me?” Dom said, knowing the answer already.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Then maybe you should. It won’t be boring.”

  The challenge was offered. The challenge was accepted. It was a date – of some description.

  Chapter 29

  Roughly an hour after finishing work, Dom was heading out the door once again. It had been a swift turnaround. In – pizza in the oven - shower – dressed – eat slightly burnt pizza, leaving blackened bits – out. He had never been so keen to get back out.

  Was his keenness down to Georgia or the car? He didn’t really know.

  Both, he decided. There was no reason it couldn’t be both.

  For one, it felt incredible to be able to drive home. The test of Richards’ road version had reminded him of how much he ached to drive, but having the black BMW all to himself – it took a weight off his shoulders that he hadn’t even know was there. It was like he could breathe again, properly, fully. Whatever had been missing had now been found.

  And apart from anything else, he would be testing out the car, getting prepared for the race and generally having some fun. If he could get the girl too, so to speak, that would be the icing on a cake he had so generously been gifted.

  Negotiating the striking matt black vehicle through the busy Bristol streets, Dom was in a state of complete and utter joy. He had missed the freedom that driving gave him. He was finally free, not just from the concrete walls of his prison, but free from the walls he hadn’t been able to leave behind. The walls of worry. Walls of fear.

  Approaching the address Georgia had given him, he could see her standing on the street, waiting for her ride. Her outfit was a complete contrast to the no-nonsense human resources manager she was during working hours. Skin-tight blue jeans, skater-style canvas pumps and an off the shoulder baggy burgundy top over a white vest. Dressed down or not, she was still stunning, oozing confidence effortlessly.

  “So, do ya wanna ride in my automobile?” Dom drawled in a barely passable American accent through the open window of the passenger door.

  “Only if you promise not to use that voice again,” she joked.

  “Would you prefer an Irish accent?”

  Opening the door she climbed into the car. “Shut your mouth and drive, flyboy.”

  A second of tyre squeal and the car was hurtling along the road.

  *

  After a twenty-minute cruise, Dom had broken away from the congested city streets. He and Georgia were lost in the banter that had started at the pub the previous night. It was relaxed. It was natural. They were perfectly at ease with each other, despite her bei
ng the boss’s daughter and him being a warehouse minion.

  The approach to the industrial site was a long straight road lined with wire fencing. On one side of the road were open fields, on the other the derelict buildings of the Severn Gate industrial estate.

  The estate had consisted of six big warehouse complexes. Five were still standing after one was destroyed by fire some years previously. Of the remaining buildings, only two still had roofs.

  As Dom drove onto the estate, he noticed some weathered police tape flapping in the light evening breeze, attached to a carport-style parking bay next to one of the more intact structures.

  “What happened there, I wonder?” said Dom, thinking out loud.

  “A man was found dead in his car. It was a few years ago.”

  “Really? How did he die?”

  “It’s not really known, but the word on the street is it was a professional hit made to look like a heart attack.”

  “Hmmm - curious. Who was the man?”

  “Duncan Bailey.”

  “The gun guy!”

  “You knew him?” Georgia wasn’t surprised. She knew Dom’s history. She knew he had moved in criminal circles. Duncan Bailey was known to most people who had a questionable moral compass. If anyone needed a gun, Bailey was the man to get it.

  “I knew of him – everybody did. I know that one of my associates had contacted him and manged to bag a weapon for a job.” Dom was candid about his past with her. He imagined he could say anything and it wouldn’t shock or surprise her.

  “Bag a weapon for a job! Who talks like that?” she continued the banter.

  “Ex-cons and wide boys,” said Dom, tongue firmly in cheek.

  “Who was the ‘associate’?” She actually made the air-quotes.

  “Kevin Dunstan.”

  There was a pause. Her brain was obviously engaged in trying to recall a fact or just the name maybe, but there was definitely something stopping the conversation. After a moment of reflection, she decided. “No, I don’t think I’ve heard of him. Do you know where he is now?”

  “Prison, probably. They threw the same book at him as they did me.”