The Business Of Dying

I approached the door and gingerly put my head round it. The gunman was lying on his front and a pool of blood had spread out below him. He still had hold of the gun, but his grip looked weak. He was trying to crawl towards the front door but didn't seem to have the strength to make it. I stepped towards him, leaning down to pick up the gun.

And then, for the second time that night, I heard a noise behind me. I swung round, eager not to get caught out again, just as Raymond, bellowing like an angry bull, charged me. He threw a punch, but I managed to read his intentions and dodged it, although I was unable to get out of his way as he ran into me head on, and I toppled over backwards under his weight.

I landed heavily on the back of the gunman, who let out a weird high-pitched squeal as the air was forced out of him. The gun fell from his fingers with a clatter. Winded myself, I desperately tried to parry the blows Raymond rained down on me. I managed to catch him on the chin with a punch of my own, but it wasn't enough to cause any real damage. He hit me back in the spot where Kover had caught me the previous night, my already tender right cheek, and I felt something break.

Sensing that I was fading, he reached across me and went for the gun. And that was when I thought of Molly Hagger and the anonymous, gruesome death she must have suffered. Only thirteen years old. Still a fucking kid. And I knew I couldn't die without making Raymond Keen pay for his crimes. With a strength born of pure rage, I shot upwards, knocking him off balance, and headbutted him bang on the bridge of the nose. I heard the bone snap with a hideous crack and he screamed in agony. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him bring up the gun, but his grip had loosened with the shock of my blow and I ripped it out of his hand, smacking him on the side of the head with the butt at just the moment he punched me again, knocking me backwards.

But this time I kept hold of the gun, and swung it round so it was pointed straight at him. His eyes widened and he froze. I sat back up, and this time he made no effort to resist. With one hand, I grabbed him by his thick mane of hair; with the other, I pushed the barrel against his eye.

'Now, now, Raymond. Easy does it.'

I pushed him backwards and got to my feet, still holding the gun tight against him. When we were both standing up, I gave him a shove and walked back into the inner hallway with him retreating in front of me. Blood poured liberally out of his damaged nose.

'Look, Dennis, I've got money. Plenty of it. We can come to some arrangement.' This time there was no mistaking the fear in his voice.

I stopped in front of him, keeping the gun trained on his face. Five feet separated us. 'I know everything that's been happening with Kover and Roberts and those kids.'

Raymond shook his head, then looked at me. 'Shit, Dennis, I never meant to get involved in it all, I really didn't.'

'That's what Kover said. I didn't believe him, and I don't believe you. Now, while you're here, there are a few questions I need answering.'

'OK.' He was playing for time.

'Every time you give me a wrong answer, or one I don't believe, I'm going to shoot you in either a foot or a kneecap.'

'Easy, Dennis. Come on.'

'How the hell did you and Roberts ever get involved together?'

'I've known him for years.'

'How?'

'I met him at a charity function once.' I snorted at the irony, but didn't say anything. 'We got friendly. I found out he had something of a coke habit so I started supplying him with the stuff – for a nice low cost, of course, which he appreciated. I liked him, you know, even though it didn't take me too long to find out about his little perversions.'

'Go on.'

'He had money troubles. Big money troubles. And not a lot in the way of scruples. Like most of them kiddy fiddlers.' He sighed. 'You know how it is, Dennis. Sometimes you can just see the evil in people. I saw it in him.'

I wondered then if he'd ever seen it in me.

'And what happened to the kids? Where are they now?'

'Dead. All dead.'

'Why? What did you do with them?'

'If it's any consolation, Dennis, I didn't kill them. I had a client, a bloke who was very, very sick. He got off on torturing children. Liked to suffocate them while he was, you know, doing his thing.'

'Jesus.'

'I wouldn't have got involved, I really wouldn't have done, but he was – is – an important man. We needed him for the business. If there was any other way-'

'Raymond, there's always another way. And what the fuck did you get out of letting him do that sort of-' I couldn't say it. 'What did you get out of it anyway?'

'We filmed him. He used to do the deed in this house I rent up near Ipswich, and we put a hidden camera in there to record him at it. We kept the tapes to make sure he told us everything that was going on.'

'And who is this sick bastard?'

'His name's Nigel Grayley.'

'And what's his use?'

'He's third in command at Customs and Excise.'

In the far distance, through the sound of the rain, I could hear the first sirens. It felt like a long time had passed since the first shots had been fired, but in reality I doubted if it was much over three minutes.

'So that's how you found out about where they were taking the accountant?'

He nodded, and I thought I detected shame in his manner. His shoulders were stooped and it looked like a lot of the joie de vivre had disappeared, probably for ever.

'What was the accountant going to expose about you and your associates?'

'We've got a big illegal immigrant racket going. Have done for years. It was going so fucking well too. We had the infrastructure, the inside contacts. Everything was going fine, no-one was getting hurt, and then that prick decided to blow the whistle.'

'Where are the tapes? The ones you made of this Grayley guy?'

Raymond exhaled slowly. 'You don't want to see them, Dennis. You really don't.'

'I know I don't. But I know people who will.'

'Fucking hell, Dennis, I really wish it hadn't all ended like this.'

'The tapes.'

'There's one in the boot of the Bentley. Down by the spare tyre.'

'What the hell's it doing there?'

'I was going to drop it in a safety deposit box on the way to the airport. I didn't like leaving them all here while I go away, just in case the house burned down.'

The sirens were getting nearer. Now it was my turn to sigh. 'You know, Raymond, this is one of the most horrendous fucking stories I've ever heard.'

'I know, Dennis, I know.' He looked down at his shoes.

I knew it was time to kill him, but even now, for some reason, it seemed difficult.

'And what about Danny? My driver? What happened to him?'

He came at me fast, almost too fast, his bulk moving at an unnerving speed, and he was almost on me by the time I pulled the trigger, the bullet snapping his head back. I fired again, hitting him in the throat, but his forward momentum drove his body into me and knocked me back into the doorframe. I pushed him out of the way and regained my footing, watching as he writhed on the carpet. He rolled round onto his back, making horrendous gurgling noises. He tried to say something, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was blood, huge torrents of it. His head was bleeding severely, and I knew the end was near for him.

I lifted the gun and went to deliver the killing shot, but decided against it. Why let him go quickly? Better that he died with time to consider the terrible wrongs he'd done.

And so, leaving him choking his last breaths, I walked out of the house to the Bentley, stepping over Luke's bullet-ridden corpse as I made my way round to the driver's seat. The keys were still in the ignition and the engine was still running. There wasn't a windscreen, but I felt that for the time being I could live with that.