Matt Hilton - Dead Men's Harvest

Me too, if only he knew it.

One thing that was apparent: away from the ears of his business associates, Siggy Petoskey had lost the ridiculous accent that made him sound like Dr Watson from an old Sherlock Holmes flick. But he was still the same supercilious fucker I remembered with distaste.

Here, where the surroundings were better illuminated, I got a look at the product names on the boxes. I had to smile. Petoskey had gone from organising dog fights to shipping pet supplies. Another attempt, I guessed, at cleaning up his blackened image. He misconstrued my smile.

‘You have nothing to be happy about, Hunter. In fact, I think this is about to become the worst day of your life.’

‘I knew that the second I missed killing you earlier,’ I said.

The man with the welt on his forehead spun quickly, backhanded me across my mouth. ‘You need to show a little respect when speaking to the man in charge of your destiny.’

I stared directly into the man’s eyes, as I allowed a trickle of blood to seep from between my lips. ‘Respect for him? Sigmund Petoskey’s so full of shit he gives sewers a bad name.’

The self-elected disciplinarian lifted his hand again, but he was halted by the opening of the office door. A slight, unremarkable-looking man stood etched against the glare of a bright lamp. ‘Enough, Charters.’ He directed his words at the man with the welt, then turned an insipid stare on Petoskey. ‘We have no time for pissing competitions, Sigmund. Let’s show Hunter we mean real business.’

This newcomer was a stranger to me. He looked pretty bland with his watery eyes, his slight frame dressed in slacks and canvas jacket and a pair of suede boots, but I guessed that there was nothing commonplace about him. The way Charters jerked at his command and Petoskey nodded in acquiescence told me who was in charge here.

Directly in front of me the door to the office was pulled open and a silhouetted figure stepped forward. Framed in the lamplight from within was the last person I expected.

‘Louise?’ I asked. ‘Is that you?’

Louise Blake should have been warned to lie low, but it seemed as if she hadn’t taken Harvey’s warning seriously.

For one brief moment I considered the possibility that Harvey was involved in Rink’s disappearance. But I quickly discarded the notion. Louise Blake had always been a wilful person, and had probably chosen to ignore the warning at her peril. She had been brought here for the same reason that Rink was missing. It was all a set up. And all along, I was the real target for this plot.

Betting that she wasn’t a willing party, I searched Louise for any sign of deceit. Her face was in shadows, but I could still tell that it was swollen and sore. I couldn’t blame her for being wilful; every time that I’d featured in her life it seemed she ended up bruised.

‘Louise?’ I said a second time. ‘Are you OK?’

The woman sobbed.

The little man with the watery eyes flicked a hand at Petoskey. ‘Show him.’

Petoskey stepped up behind Louise and I saw him lift something to the back of her head.

‘No,’ I started to say, my body going rigid. On each side my guards strained to hold me back, while Charters grabbed at my hair, holding me so I’d no option but to watch.

CRACK!

Petoskey fired a single round into the medulla oblongata at the base of Louise’s skull. All motor function failed instantly, and Louise died without ever realising her face now decorated the front of my jacket and shirt.

She flopped to the ground, her hand outstretched towards me like a broken lily. In reaction I jerked forward, but Charters yanked back on my skull, bringing me to a squirming halt. Petoskey grinned, holding a semi-automatic handgun pointed at my chest.

‘You murderous bastard!’ I yelled.

Petoskey looked down at Louise’s cadaver, and there was something decidedly unhealthy in the way his eyes lingered on the swell and curve of her backside. Then he snapped his eyes up to mine. ‘Perhaps now you’ll fully understand how serious we are.’

‘You shithead,’ I said. ‘I’m your enemy, why did you have to kill her? She had nothing to do with me, for God’s sake!’

From my left-hand side, the little man interjected. ‘Charters, I stopped you before, but please ensure that Hunter learns a little courtesy when speaking to us.’

‘With pleasure,’ Charters said releasing my hair. He stepped in front of me, smiling as he studied my face. Then he backhanded me, his knuckles raking across my jaw. It left my skull tolling like a bell, and fresh blood invading my mouth. Judging by his smirk Charters was mildly pleased with his handiwork. ‘Watch your mouth in future,’ he said.

‘You watch your arse,’ I told him right back. ‘Because I swear to God I’m going to kill every last one of you.’

His next backhander slackened one of my teeth.

‘That’s enough for now, Charters,’ said the little man. ‘But if he shows any further disrespect, you have my permission to chastise him as you see fit.’

‘Here,’ I said, and spat a mouthful of clotty blood on to Petoskey’s overcoat. ‘How’s that for disrespect?’

Charters and his friends all got their digs in this time, leaving my kidneys screaming in protest. To my dissatisfaction, Petoskey appeared unfazed by my uncouth gift. It was obviously why he’d worn a raincoat.

‘Take him inside,’ the little man ordered.

Petoskey stood to one side as my jailers forced me into the office. It wasn’t the largest of spaces, and wouldn’t accommodate all of my captors, plus me. The only concession to furniture was a single wooden chair and a small desk, upon which lay a large envelope.

‘Please be seated, Hunter.’

I sat facing the door, but only because four meaty hands pressed me into the chair.

Charters hovered by the door, but his friends had to wait outside. Charters loosely aimed the SIG he’d taken from me. Petoskey and the newcomer took up positions so they were both facing me but neither would impede the aim of their guard. I looked from one to the other.

‘So let’s get things straight. Who’s the biggest arsehole out of the two of you?’ I asked.

‘I’m growing tired of your disrespect, punk,’ Charters offered from the back of the room.

I paid him no mind, searching the faces of my two immediate captors. ‘Well?’

‘I’ll allow you one concession,’ said the little man. ‘Our principal owes someone a final say on your fate, but if it comes to it, I don’t mind killing you and taking the consequences.’

‘I guess that means you’re the one that I have to kill first,’ I told him. ‘Then again, I owe Petoskey big time for what he did to Louise. Maybe I’ll save you for later.’

‘Such bravado from a man in chains,’ Petoskey laughed. ‘Should I show it to him now, Baron?’

Baron? That was the name of the little man. Just like his bland face, his name meant nothing to me, other than it was now marked for death.

‘I’ll do it.’ Baron picked the envelope off the desk. ‘Let me open this for you.’ He slipped out a black and white photograph and placed it in front of me.

Despite myself, I flinched.

The glossy shot was of my best friend.

Rink was slumped in a chair. He was tethered. His face was a patchwork of cuts and watery blood was spattered down the front of his bared chest. A wound gaped high in the meat of his right shoulder. Only the seething hatred burning from behind his swollen eyelids told me he was still alive.

‘Jared Rington is alive,’ Petoskey said. ‘But one more wrong move out of you, Hunter, and believe me, he will die.’

Baron stepped forward. ‘You do believe that we are capable of Rington’s murder, Hunter?’