Choosetheplot, p.14
#ChooseThePlot, page 14
‘It’s all right, DCI Black,’ he said casually, ‘everything’s under control here.’
‘We were beginning to wonder when you’d get here,’ Ribisi said in his peculiar Scottish-Neapolitan brogue. ‘Did you have a good journey?’ He might have been an hotelier speaking to an arriving guest.
‘You know we’re not leaving here without you, Alessandro,’ said Black, ignoring her superior and trying to sound confident. ‘Mr Webb, I’m glad you’re here to help us make the arrest.’
‘You win your bet, Alessandro,’ said Webb with a weary sigh. ‘She’s an honest cop. Who would have imagined such a thing? You still have the credit card, DCI Black?’ He rolled one finger over the other. ‘Turn it over and call the number.’
‘I think we’ve had enough of your games, sir,’ said Serena. ‘It looks like you and Ribisi are running the show. I should have known an operation this size would require heavyweights on both sides of the law to run it. What have you done with Golden?’
‘Call the number and you’ll find out,’ said Webb.
‘It seems a bit melodramatic to me, all of this.’ She held the card high between thumb and forefinger.
‘It’s a company formality,’ said Ribisi, setting down his whisky tumbler. ‘We like to do things by the book.’
Playing for time, Black took out her phone. ‘Happy, you’ll have to read out the numbers,’ she said. ‘The type’s too small for me.’
Gilmore stepped forward, his frown deepening into incomprehension, but he did as he was instructed. Black punched out the number and waited.
‘Mrs Serena Black,’ said an Italian-Scottish voice. ‘How can I help you today?’
‘Tell them you want to activate the card,’ said Webb.
‘I’d like to activate my card.’
‘Please give me the last four digits on the front of your card.’
‘6859.’
‘And now the passcode.’
‘9087249.’
‘That’s fine. Would you like to change your code to something more memorable?’
‘No.’
‘Very well. Your credit limit is three hundred thousand pounds.’
Black drew a sharp breath. ‘What can I get for that?’
‘If you’d care to speak to Mr Webb, I’m sure he’ll be happy to take you through the procedure.’ The line went dead.
‘Oliver and I have a problem,’ said Ribisi, walking around the desk. ‘We need more people like you on the ground. There’s a lot of work to be done.’
‘You think you can put a price on everyone, is that it?’ said Black, amazed. ‘Happy, are you hearing this?’ Gilmore didn’t answer. He was quaking in his police-issue boots. She turned to Webb. ‘With respect, sir, I think you’ve misunderstood the basic principles of policing. I want to see the girl. I know she’s here.’
Webb studied her in some puzzlement. ‘You do understand what we’re offering you, do you, Black?’ You see what the Elimination Bureau does.’
‘I think so. You send out the cards and get others who are more easily tempted to carry out your dirty work for you.’
‘They’re well paid. The privilege of membership.’
‘So what do you expect me to do?’
‘We want you to help run the legal side of things for us. We’ll take care of the rest.’
‘What exactly would my duties be?’ asked Black, still amazed by their effrontery.
‘Charlie Over and Jake Finnegan are gone,’ Webb replied. ‘That means there’s one big company now instead of two rivals. We’re working in the interests of this city. You just have to make sure that nothing gets in our way.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘You have a son in the hospital,’ said Webb softly. ‘We have many customers there. Even in the rehabilitation clinic.’
‘That’s sick,’ muttered Black. She flicked the credit card back at them. ‘I don’t need the money that badly. I formally refuse your offer and I’m taking you in, so you can stay the hell away from my son.’
She threw Gilmore an urgent glance. She needed him to pick up the look and interpret it. Ribisi couldn’t let either of them live now that they knew about the Superintendent’s involvement.
‘Let’s go downstairs,’ said Ribisi. ‘It’s time you joined Golden.’
They might have been visiting dignitaries getting a tour of the plant, heading in single file down the staircase, not even at the point of the world’s most expensive pistol. The situation did not call for a display of firepower; everyone here knew exactly what everyone else was capable of doing.
As they reached the first of the printing presses, Black stalled for time. She had to shout to be heard. ‘So what happens now?’ she said.
Ribisi looked apologetic as he waved her on. ‘You’re yesterday’s news,’ he called back. ‘Look over there.’
She followed his eyeline and saw to her horror that the far side of the press was coated in crimson gore. ‘I’m afraid Golden made the morning edition,’ said Webb.
Black realised that he wanted her to keep moving until she reached the metal steps on the other side of the last machine press, which was not for printing at all but for cutting the quad sheets into single pages. The great guillotine blades rose and fell with a terrible zinging sound, separating the paper stock into crisp clean stacks. The papers rolled off around a corner and were collected by steel arms. The thundering sound of the presses was unbearable.
‘It’s your turn. Get in.’
Webb punched a mushroom-shaped button that raised the mesh guard in front of the slithering blades. An alarm added to the cacophony somewhere above them, and yellow lights began to rotate, warning employees that the safety bar was raised while the machine was still in operation. He slapped Black in the kidneys and forced her up the steps.
The DCI understood their thinking; they had never expected her to take up their offer. Wiping out the only investigating officers sent a very clear message out to the Glasgow underworld. There’s a new empire in place, and we’re bigger than the law. There was nothing she could say or do which would make any difference now. Crime and law enforcement united – gangland’s biggest dream was about to come true. Who was she, a single mum who’d defected to London and come crawling back when that didn’t work out? Nobody knew her here, and nobody would miss her – except the one person who really needed her, and he was in an infirmary, about to be put back on the drugs that had very nearly killed him.
She stopped on the top step and looked back at Gilmore. His eyes were desperately locked to hers. They said: what do you want me to do?
But she was out of ideas.
The alarm siren was so loud that she couldn’t think. The lights strobed the walls, but nobody came.
The alarm…
It should be connected to the emergency services. Why had no emergency response unit rung to see if everything was all right at the plant? Because Ribisi knows exactly how long he has, she thought. She looked down at the racing paper track and knew she could only stall for a few moments more. She had reached the end and poor old Happy wouldn’t be able to come up with anything.
Black turned to her superior. ‘There’s one thing I learned in London that proved useful to me in any difficult undertaking, Sir,’ she told him. ‘Always let your boss show you how it’s done first.’
She yanked his right arm down so suddenly and so hard that in the noise and pulse of the emergency system, it was a moment before anyone could realise what was happening. Webb lost his balance and the pair of them went over the edge onto the papers.
Ribisi darted forward and hit the safety stop, but Webb had landed ahead of Black, and the momentum of the paper track was still carrying on too fast for him to prevent himself from going underneath the blades.
Webb screamed as his legs were neatly sliced off by the guillotine. He tried to claw at the pulp beneath him but was drawn into the belly of the machine just as the whole thing ground to a stop. Moments later he had disappeared from view, and in the ensuing silence they could still hear him crying out from inside.
Black stumbled up and climbed back onto the steps as Gilmore threw himself at the surprised Ribisi.
Their clinch ended as Ribisi dropped back, his hand at his left shoulder. Gilmore had wrestled the gun away from him, but not before a bullet had passed into the ganglord.
‘Be careful with that gun – it’s worth a fortune,’ said Black. As she drew closer, she realised that Gilmore had fired directly into Ribisi’s shoulder.
‘Wallace reckoned the bullet was unlikely to injure anyone standing behind the original target, so I knew it wouldn’t go through me as well,’ said Gilmore.
‘Wonders will never cease,’ said Black, amazed. ‘You were paying attention after all.’
As if in surprise, Ribisi slumped to the floor, leaving a thin trail of his own blood on the concrete.
‘Give us a smile, Mr Ribisi,’ she said, sitting down beside him and wiping blood from his eyes. ‘You’re going to be in tomorrow’s papers after all.’ She looked back at the presses. ‘I’m going to make you pay for what you did to her.’
Ribisi gave her a long, hard stare, then passed out.
Black got to her feet and went over to the entrance, where a squad car was arriving at the same time as the first ambulance. She was already thinking about what she would do in the morning.
Visit my boy, she decided, and bring him home with me. Maybe I’ll stay up here after all.
SHOULD’VE GONE TO SPECSAVERS
This novella is a unique collaboration between crime fans and bestselling authors, brought together by Specsavers and Penguin. Contributors to #ChooseThePlot on Facebook suggested plot developments and twists for Christopher Fowler, James Oswald and Jane Casey to craft into this brand new work of fiction.
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Published in 2014 by Penguin Random House
Christopher Fowler, #ChooseThePlot
