The Dead and the Dying (a John Mason thriller) Read online

  "Harbour Bridge?" she asks. "What are you doing in that dump?"

  I disconnect and head to the door, then I stop and look back at the girl. "How fast can you do it?" I ask.

  10. The Dead and the Dying

  "We have a track on him," says Tepper, keeping a vague eye on the road as we speed past other cars on the freeway. She's also glancing at a mobile phone. "He's on North Bridge Road".

  "How the hell are you tracking him?" I ask.

  "Easy. When he used his card in the petrol station, there was only one mobile phone signal detected in the building. So we're tracking that phone". She looks out the window. The freeway is about to merge with another, and traffic is streaming down the ramp. "Look out for a white freezer van". She glances at the mobile phone. "About... now!"

  And there it is. A white freezer van races down the ramp and joins our flow of traffic. I look over my shoulder as I hear a helicopter above us.

  "You know, that thing's going to tip him off," I say.

  "Can't do anything about that," Tepper says.

  Sure enough, the van accelerates away from us. The driver has clearly spotted the helicopter, though he probably doesn't know about us yet.

  "Want me to drive?" I ask hopefully.

  "No time," she says, pulling the car out into another lane, tyres screeching. I've been in a few car chases over the years, but always with someone whose driving skills I trusted. This is different. Tepper drives like a maniac on the best of days.

  "Can you see him?" she asks.

  I stick my head out the window and look ahead. Briefly, in a gap between two lorries, I see the white van. "He's still there," I say. "Just... keep going".

  I fall back into my seat as Tepper jerks the car into another lane, miraculously missing two other vehicles. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive?" I plead.

  "Relax," she says. "Don't you trust my driving?"

  I open my mouth to say something, but at that moment I spot a huge lorry hurtling straight towards us. At the last minute, Tepper swerves into another lane. "You're either really really good," I say, "or really really bad".

  "Really really good," she says. "But where is he?"

  I try to see the van ahead. "Call the pilot, see where he went".

  "Okay," she says, but as she starts fiddling with her phone we score a glancing hit on the side of a car in the next lane, sending us speeding off the road and down onto a stretch of wasteland. Tepper slams on the brakes, but we just skid along until we hit a small earth bank and the car does a slow-motion roll onto its side. There's dust everywhere.

  "Ow," I say.

  "Are you okay?" she asks.

  "I'm fine," I say, unbuckling my seatbelt and climbing up and out through the window. I look around and there's no sign of the helicopter. We've come to a stop near the ocean, under a bridge. "Nice view," I say.

  Tepper climbs out next to me. "I swear I only took my eyes off the road for a second. Less than that. Half a second".

  "Come on," I say. "We need to a ride back into town. Is this your car?"

  "Cop car," she says.

  "Leave it, then," I say. "Get in touch with base and see how they're doing". I look at her. She's not doing anything. "So now you don't want to use your phone?"

  Looking annoyed, she dials and waits. "We took a detour. Where are you?" She listens. "Great. Let us know". She disconnects. "They lost him. Apparently they got distracted when they saw us flying through the scenery. And he's turned his phone off, I guess he worked out how we found him".

  "You know the best way to track someone?" I ask.

  "A tracer stapled to their butt?"

  I shake my head. "Apparently," I say, "the best way to track someone is to crash your car under a bridge and then stand around arguing until you spot that target pulling up in the distance".

  Tepper stares at me. "What?" Then she twigs, and she turns to see where I'm looking. About five hundred metres away, down near the water, a familiar white van is pulling up. He probably hasn't seen us since we're so far away and we're partly camouflaged by some bushes. "Holy fucking Jesus Christ's balls," Tepper says.

  "Works every time," I say. She looks at me. "One out of one is still every time," I remind her.

  As we get closer, we see a figure working on the back of the van. He's changing the plates. It's hard to make him out, but he seems to be middle-aged, with dark hair and wearing a workman's boiler suit. He clearly has no idea he's being watched. The bridge curves over his position, so he probably thinks he's sheltered from the helicopter's view.

  "How fucking lucky were we?" whispers Tepper.

  "The harder you work," I say, "the luckier you get".

  We're now about two hundred metres from him. We watch as he finishes with the plates and then opens the back of the van. I hear Tepper take a deep breath as we see what's in the back of the van: a dozen kids, chained to the floor.

  "Holy fuck," Tepper whispers. "We have to stop this now".

  "Can you take him out from here?" I ask.

  Tepper pulls her gun from its holster. "Maybe".

  "Maybe's not good enough," I say. "You miss, he's off".

  "I could blow out the tyres".

  "We need to get this right," I say.

  "Are you a good shot?"

  "Me?" In my mind, there's a brief montage of a bunch of times when I fired at one thing and hit something else entirely. "Not especially," I say.

  Tepper holds out the gun, closes one eyes and squints as she aims. It's not a look that inspires much confidence. "Couldn't we just hold the gun up and tell him to surrender?" she asks.

  "We need to get this done first time," I say.

  She concentrates, even though it's obvious her hand isn't very steady. For a while, I assume she won't be able to do it, but as the target shuts the van doors, Tepper fires.

  The bullet hits the side of the van.

  The guy looks around.

  Tepper fires again, this time hitting and breaking the glass window in the van's side.

  The guy runs for the cab door, but Tepper fires a third time and finally blows one of the van's tyres.

  "This is going really badly," I hiss at her.

  "Freeze!" she shouts, standing up and moving towards the van with her gun raised. The suspect seems frozen to the spot, with the door to the driver's side of the vehicle open and his arm reaching inside. He could jump in at any second, but with a blown tyre he wouldn't get very far.

  I wish I had a gun. I wish I had a gun. I wish I had a gun.

  I follow Tepper, making sure to keep a pace or two behind her. Not particularly good for my ego, but probably safer. Besides, we don't know for sure that he hasn't got a gun himself. In fact, he might even have a partner.

  "Watch out," I whisper. "In case he's got a friend".

  We approach the van. When we're a few metres out, Tepper stops. "Put your hands where I can see them".

  "I think that would be a bad idea," the guy says.

  "Put your hands where I can see them!" Tepper shouts.

  "Are you sure?" he asks.

  "Now!" she yells.

  He pulls his hand out and the van immediately starts rolling towards the water. "Handbrake," he says.

  "Shit," says Tepper, but before she can say anything the van rolls straight over the edge and hits the water hard, immediately tilting onto its side and starting to sink.

  "That was your fault," says the guy. "Now all those kids are gonna drown".

  For a moment, I have no idea what Tepper's going to do. And then she does exactly what I'd do in her situation: she shoots the guy in the chest. Just one shot, probably not enough to kill him, but enough to knock him to the ground.

  "Come on," she says, running to the edge of the water. "We've got to save them". She takes off her jacket and throws it to the floor, gun and all. At that moment, the guy leaps up and tries to grab the gun, but Tepper spots him at the last moment and pushes the gun away, sending it skidding into the water.

  "Bullet-
proof vest," says the guy, smiling, before Tepper kicks him in the face.

  "Come on!" Tepper shouts at me as the van disappears completely below the surface, air bubbles rising. She jumps into the water and I run to the water's edge, watching her swim down to try to get the van's back door open. I hear a sound and turn to see the guy running off. Without a moment's hesitation, I run after him.

  "Police!" I shout. "Get back here!"

  Useless, of course. What's worse, he's clearly faster than me. I can barely keep up with him as we run up the embankment towards the road. I don't fancy playing in the traffic with him. I look back at the water. Should I have helped Tepper instead? No! This guy has to get caught.

  We reach the road and I chase him past the speeding cars, out onto the bridge. Just as I start to fear that I'm losing him, he stops running and turns to me. "Do you know what I hate?" he asks.

  I pull up short just a couple of metres from him. "Homicidal maniacs who kill kids for money?" I ask.

  "The modern world. Remember me?"

  I suddenly realise: yes, I do. From the night at the industrial estate. He's the guy who came over to talk to us.

  "You shot a good friend of mine," I say.

  He nods. "I'm aware of that. If it helps, I was only trying to wound her. I was aiming for her shoulder".

  "You got her in the head," I say, raising my voice to be heard over the traffic.

  "That was a mistake," he says. Then he does something quite astonishing. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a gun, which he then throws over the side of the bridge. "I hate guns," he says. "A gun is a coward's way of winning a fight. Real men don't need guns". He steps towards me. "Real men sort things out in a more direct way". He takes a swing and punches me in the jaw, sending me falling backwards onto the ground.

  "Guns are like laws," he says, towering above me. "They're an unfair advantage. And I don't like cheating".

  "You've been killing kids like they're cattle," I say, scrambling to my feet. I half expect him to knock me down again immediately, but he doesn't. It seems he really wants to play fair.

  "I wonder how your friend's doing?" he says. "Do you think she's saved those kids yet? Do you think she'll die trying?"

  Cars flash past, inches from my head.

  He kneels over me. "You're weak," he says. "I didn't expect that. I mean... you're physically weak. Like an old man. What's wrong with you?"

  The pain is back in my belly. It's nothing to do with the punch, it's just my body letting me down at the worst possible moment. I grimace. It's a sign of weakness but I can't help it.

  "This is no fun," he says. He pulls a knife from his pocket. It's a long blade, maybe five inches with a serrated edge. It's going to hurt. Then again, perhaps I could do with a little roadside surgery. "I'll find someone else to play with".

  I reach up and try to hold him off me. One hand on the hand holding the knife, I put my other hand around his neck. It's hopeless, I know. I don't have the strength for this, and despite my best efforts, he's getting closer to my chest with the knife. There's not much I can do, is there? This is it. I'll just have to accept the inevitable.

  So with my last energy, I push him towards the road. My luck holds, and his head is struck a glancing blow by a passing car, which fails to stop. He falls back, blood pouring from the side of his forehead. This is the great thing about Miami. Two guys can have a fight to the death in broad daylight by the side of a busy road, and no-one stops.

  "Why'd you do it?" I ask. "Money? How many kids did you raise like that?" I get to my feet. I'm still weak, and still in pain, but I'm in better shape than him. "Just to sell their IDs when they turn sixteen and then, what, you drowned them all? How many?"

  He scrambles around to find the knife. All his bravado is gone. He just wants to survive. This is what it always comes down to in the end.

  I haul him up and push him over the side of the bridge, holding onto him by the shoulders.

  "You'd get the death penalty anyway," I say. I don't know if he's conscious. I have no idea if he can even hear me. "But it'd take years. Maybe fifteen years of appeals and counter-appeals and God knows what. And maybe you'd even get off at the end of it. But fifteen years. Sorry, I can't wait that long". I'm about to let him fall when I realise something important. "What's your name?" I ask.

  No answer.

  "We'll work it out," I say. I'm about to let him go when he reaches up and grabs my neck, pulling me almost over the edge. I grab onto the railing. Looking into his eyes, I can see he's determined that if he's going to die, I'm going to die to. And for a moment it occurs to me: why not? It'd be an honourable death, falling while stopping a killer. So for just a fraction of a second, I relax my grip on the railing. But then I rethink and I take hold again. An honourable death is fine. Better than wasting away in a cancer ward in a few years' time. But there are better deaths out there. I've got time to wait. Time to choose the right death.

  “Fuck off,” I say, and I twist away from him. He falls, his body exploding as it lands hundreds of metres below on a stretch of flat grey concrete. Someone's going to have to clean that mess up. But not me. I haul myself back up onto the bridge.

  When I get back to the spot where I left Tepper, I find squad cars and a couple of ambulances have arrived. There are cops and paramedics swarming all over the place, and Tepper is sitting in the back of an ambulance. I walk over.

  "He's dead," I say. "Fell off a bridge".

  She nods. She's soaking wet still, wrapped in a blanket.

  "Did you save any of them?" I ask.

  She stares at me for a moment. "Do you care?"

  I think about it, then I nod.

  She takes a deep breath. "There were fifteen kids in there. They all drowned". She looks past me. "Except one".

  I turn to see a teenager, also soaking wet and unsteady on his feet, being led to another ambulance.

  "I saved one," says Tepper.

  I look back at her. "One's better than none," I say.

  "It's not as good as fifteen".

  "It's better than none," I say again.

  She nods. "See you on Monday?" she asks.

  I'm about to say yes, when I remember a certain appointment at the hospital. "I'll be sick Monday," I say. "Maybe Tuesday too. But I'll be in on Wednesday".

  "Are you okay?" She looks at me as if she knows I'm not. "I don't mean the drinking. I mean everything else. Is there anything wrong with you that I don't know about?"

  I imagine just for a moment what it would be like to tell her everything. "No," I say. "I'm fine. Nothing a few days off won't fix".

  Epilogue

  The hospital room is bright. Fibes drops by to see how I'm doing, and I manage a few sarcastic quips. I look at the needle in my arm, hooked up to a large bag of white powder.

  "You're going to feel really, really, really sick," Fibes says, as if that's supposed to reassure me. "Sicker than you've ever felt in your life. But it'll pass in a couple of hours. Mostly, anyway".

  "And then I have to come back?" I ask, hoping against hope that I won't.

  "You'll have to come back every two weeks for the next three months," he says. "But the alternative is worse. If you'd rather just let the cancer win without a fight, you can give up".

  "No I can't," I say. "You'll come and doorstep me with a syringe again".

  "Probably," he says. "But the point is, at least this way you're fighting it".

  "Even if there's no point?"

  "There's always a point".

  I smile. "What I mean is, it's a losing battle, isn't it? I'm still going to die in the end".

  "At least you get some choice in how you die," he says before walking out of the room, leaving me in that hospital bed with chemicals being pumped into me.

  My phone rings. I answer.

  "How are you doing?" asks Tepper on the other end.

  "Fine," I say. "How are you doing?"

  "I'm good," she says "Day off. Bored You want to get lunch or something?"<
br />
  I look at the crap being pumped into my body.

  "Can't," I say. "Sorry. But I'll see you at work on Wednesday".

  "Okay". She sounds disappointed. I hang up.

  I walk to the end of Hudson Street and I look up at the front window of Ellen's apartment. This is pathetic. It's far and away the most pathetic thing I've ever done. But I'm in the mood for being pathetic. It's good for the soul to be a little pathetic from time to time, right? Helps cleanse the ego.

  The light is on in Ellen's front room. That means she's up late working. Ellen always used to stay up late when we were working. I thought that was a response to my drinking, but it seems it's become a habit for her. Some things never change, but some things change completely.

  Somewhere in that apartment, there's a man who's waiting in bed for Ellen. He's probably asleep, but he's waiting. He won't properly rest until she's slid in next to him. Perhaps one day she'll invent a drinking problem for him too. His occasional glasses of whisky and beer will get magnified to the point where he won't be able to argue with her.

  That’s how it works with Ellen. Focus on your weakness so that she doesn’t have to worry about her own. I was the first but I won’t be the last. Being back with her wouldn’t solve anything.

  This is crazy. I need something else.

  With my eyes closed, I hear the sound of a drawer opening, some rustling, and then the drawer closing again. The room smells like lavender, an old trick practiced by whores around the world to disguise all the disgusting smells left behind by the men they fuck. I’m probably her tenth customer tonight. There’ll probably be ten more. So it goes.

  "Okay," she says.

  I open my eyes. It's ridiculous. I know exactly where she keeps the damn money. But I guess it's all part of the ritual she wants to keep up. We all like rituals now and then. We pretend we’re smart, rich, happy, healthy... and we befriend the few people we meet who buy into the fantasy we want to maintain.