Howard Linskey: The Dead

It was the drive-by that sparked Fallon’s latest visit to the Cauldron.

‘The guy’d been with me for years,’ he told us, ‘they shotgunned him as he stepped out of the pub for a fag. They drove off before anyone could do anything, left him bleeding to death in the gutter. We can’t let this one go,’ he told me, and he meant that I wouldn’t be allowed to let it go, not if I wanted to retain any credibility with Fallon and his men.

‘There is a way to sort this,’ Palmer told us before I was able to answer Fallon, ‘but you’ve got to let me do it on my own. If we try to go in there mob handed with Fallon’s lads it’ll be like the gunfight at the OK Corral and the police will be all over us in minutes.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Let me go and see them. I’ll have another word,’ answered Palmer. ‘I’ll send them away,’ he said simply. He was deliberately cagey and I knew why. He didn’t want anyone to know the details of his plan. The more people who knew, the more likely it was that someone would leak it to the police, maybe even sell details to the Serbs. It wouldn’t have been the first time we’d been betrayed, so I didn’t ask again.

‘What do you need?’

He took a while to answer then said, ‘I need Robbie to take out any CCTV in their street and a few streets either side, so they can’t link my arrival to the scene.’

‘Okay,’ I said, ‘what else?’

He shook his head, ‘Nothing. Just leave me to it.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said, ‘when?’

‘Might as well be tomorrow. No point fucking about, eh?’

‘I’ll drive you,’ Kinane said.

‘No,’ Palmer answered quickly and Joe Kinane looked a little put out.

‘He’s right Joe,’ I told him, ‘you’re known. You’d stand out a mile in that street,’ and I turned back to Palmer, ‘take someone else, somebody who isn’t known to them.’

‘I’ll do it,’ said Peter Kinane and we all turned to look at him, including his dad. What we saw was a man who looked so damned determined to prove he wasn’t like his older brother that I didn’t hesitate.

‘Okay,’ I said and Joe Kinane stayed silent.

Palmer checked his watch and let the final seconds tick away, then he glanced at Peter Kinane. He climbed out of the car, closed the door behind him and commenced a leisurely walk along the street.

Peter Kinane was unlikely to be seen from his position. He’d parked far enough away from the house on a corner. From here he could clearly make out the property, the huge, bald, Serbian enforcer guarding the doorway and the comparably slight figure of Palmer as he walked unhurriedly towards it.

The Serb heavy was expecting Palmer and watched him all the way. When he reached the man he said, ‘I have a message for Dusan Stevic from David Blake. He wants to talk. He has a new offer, to end this.’

‘Wait,’ he was told and a second heavy manning the door left his post and went in to announce Palmer’s arrival. Palmer waited, the first guard watching him intently the whole time, huge arms folded across his tree-trunk chest.

The second heavy eventually returned and said something in Serb to his colleague. He stood aside and Palmer was allowed to walk up the steps. As soon as he reached the front door they patted him down thoroughly to ensure he wasn’t carrying. When they were satisfied, there were more words in Serbian between them and Palmer was waved on into the house and up the stairs. One of the men called ‘Zoran!’ to alert the man standing outside the brothers’ secure room.

As before, Zoran wore his long black coat open and Palmer could see the handle of the gun protruding from the shoulder holster. Zoran went about the rigmarole of searching Palmer all over again but Palmer was unarmed. He knew he could never get a weapon past these guys. When he was satisfied that Palmer was clean, Zoran called through the locked door and one of the brothers answered him, Zoran spoke again and there was a pause. The enforcer surveyed Palmer intently as he waited and Palmer stared straight back at him, saying nothing.

There was a buzz from inside the secure room and the door clicked open. Zoran stepped to one side to enable Palmer to walk up to it and open the door. Palmer advanced towards the door but, at the last moment, as he reached out with his gloved left hand to push it inwards, he turned his open palm into a fist then moved so quickly Zoran had no time to react. Palmer’s left fist became a blur that flew sideways and landed hard on Zoran’s throat, crushing it. Zoran’s eyes bulged and he began a panicked battle to breathe now that his windpipe and throat had been crushed. As the big man swayed, Palmer pushed him backwards against the wall and forced his other hand into Zoran’s jacket. It came out holding the silenced pistol and in virtually the same movement Palmer wedged the end of the barrel up beneath Zoran’s chin and fired. The round tore through him, taking the top of his head off and splashing blood all over the ceiling. As the big man’s body slumped to the ground, Palmer kicked in the door.

The Stevic brothers were already moving, the sound of Zoran’s choked breathing, the suppressed gunshot and the tell-tale splash of blood, some of which had spattered through the door, alerted them. Palmer strode into the room with his gun held out. He shot the nearest brother, Sreten, in the face as he tried to get up out of his armchair and the body slumped back down into a seated position, eyes still open in shock. The second brother Marko had already reached a shotgun and was turning to aim it straight at Palmer when he was shot twice in the chest in quick succession. He fell backwards, upending the table, dislodging glasses and papers and making a din that alerted the men on the ground floor. They began to run up the stairs, shouting.

Dusan was the last brother left alive — he managed to pull out a gun and dive behind the upturned table. He reached his hand out over the top of the table and fired blind three times, missing Palmer by inches. Palmer returned fire, pinning the guy down. Dusan’s hand went back behind the table, as bullets hit the solid wood but failed to penetrate it. Palmer could hear the two big Serbs crashing up the stairs. They would reach him in seconds and he’d be caught in a fatal crossfire between them and Dusan. It would all be over for him if he couldn’t kill the last brother quickly.

Palmer made a decision then and dropped his gun. He took a step forwards and scrambled for the shotgun Marko had dropped. As Dusan raised his gun hand to fire once more, Palmer turned the shotgun on him and returned fire. The first round went into the table and there was a scream from the other side as the pellets did some damage and Dusan let the gun fall from his injured hand. Palmer ran towards the upturned table, put one foot on the edge and peered over at him. Palmer pointed the gun downwards just as the wounded Dusan rolled onto his back and looked up into the barrel.

His terrified scream of ‘No!’ was stifled by a shotgun blast in the face.

Palmer threw himself over the upturned table and hit the ground just as the two big Serbs burst into the room, still shouting. He rose to his feet again with Dusan’s handgun and took out the first enforcer before he had time to take in the scene of carnage before him; two bullets into the chest putting him down. The second Serb swore and brought round his own gun but, in his panic, he was too quick to fire. His bullet cannoned into the wall behind Palmer who took more care with his shot. The first round hit the big Serb in the shoulder but, amazingly, he stayed on his feet. Instead of falling, he tottered backwards, cursed loudly, and tried to raise his weapon once more. Palmer took a step forwards, aimed carefully and put three more bullets into him. The man went backwards and fell onto his colleague who was still moving, desperately trying to drag himself to his feet, despite the bullets inside him and the dead weight on top of him. Palmer put a bullet in the back of his head on his way out of the room.