Matt Hilton - Slash and burn

Before leaving the restaurant, he'd pulled on a heavy overcoat. But he was cold. The wind was blowing through the SUV, carrying snow with it. He tasted flakes on his tongue. But he didn't close the windows. The stink of brains was sour in his nostrils and he could smell the whisky coming out of his pores. The cold was helping clear his mind for what was to come.

The snow stopped.

There was a bustle of activity on the runway as a plough and a truck with a heater mounted on its back set to clearing away the snow. Except for visits to a vending machine, Hunter didn't move. Neither did Larry.

Larry was shivering by the time he watched Hunter stand up and pull a rucksack on to his shoulder. Hunter disappeared through the departures door. Finally, Larry stepped out of the SUV. He left the Mossberg where it was, but slipped the Magnum inside a coat pocket.

He went up to the booking desk.

'When's the next flight to Frankfort?'

'There's a flight preparing to leave, sir,' said the airport rep. He didn't meet Larry's eyes. Larry was sure the man could smell him and was turning away to avoid the stink. The guy tapped buttons on a computer. 'There are seats free. I can book you on it if you wish?'

'How long until the next flight outa here?'

'Two hours.' He glanced up at Larry. Then his eyes quickly flicked down again.

'Give me a ticket for that one,' Larry said.

He paid cash from his billfold, took his tickets then went off to the public restroom. Inside he studied himself in a mirror. No wonder the guy had been giving him funny looks: he was still covered in dust and slivers of glass. He washed his hair and face. Then he leaned both hands on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time. His eyes began to go out of focus, and for the briefest of seconds he saw someone else's eyes staring back at him. One brown, one pale blue.

Trent was along for the ride. He wanted to be there when Larry ripped Hunter's heart out of his chest.

I was in my room at the motel outside Arlington when a knock came at the door.

I'd been sitting on the bed with my SIG on my lap. Standing up, I held the gun close to my hip as I walked across the room. I'd pulled the blinds shut on arrival, so had to peel one of the slats aside to take a look outside.

If I'd never seen the Bolan twins, I'd have thought the two guys standing outside were huge. Rink stands about six three and Harvey is a shade taller. Rink is built like Mr Universe, while Harvey looks more lithe and rangy, like a young Muhammad Ali. They were an odd-looking combination. Rink's part Japanese and has the blue-black hair and hooded eyes of his mother. His muscular build is down to his Scottish ancestry on his father's side. Harvey on the other hand was blue-black all over, from his bald head down. Rink had on a denim jacket and jeans over a white T-shirt. Harvey looked as slick as ever I'd seen him in a silver-grey suit with matching shirt and tie. Harvey had a laptop bag with him, which he'd hung from one shoulder. He was fixing his cuffs as I peeked out at them.

They were my best friends in the entire world and I was pleased to see them both.

I let them in. Harvey came in first, while Rink took a last look behind them. Harvey put out his hand and I shook with him. Then Rink followed and grabbed me in a bear hug. He squeezed me and I was reminded of the kicking that Larry Bolan had lain on my ribs.

'Easy, big guy,' I laughed. You'd think we hadn't seen each other for years instead of the few days it had been. But that's Rink for you.

'Things looked clear on the way over here,' Harvey said.

'I was hoping that we would spot a tail,' Rink said. 'After coolin' my heels at court all week I could've done with the action.'

Distracted by the fact that Kate was being held by dangerous people, I didn't care much about Rupert Heavey. If his defence attorneys called for a mistrial due to the no-show of the key prosecuting witness, then to hell with it. It was like Rink said: there were more ways to skin Heavey than by putting him through the legal system.

Shutting the door behind them, I got the preamble out of the way. 'You said you had something interesting about Robert Huffman?'

Harvey slid the bag off his shoulder and pulled out his laptop. He cabled it up to a socket in the wall. We'd chosen this motel because it advertised internet access in all rooms. Sitting on the bed with the computer on his thighs, Harvey began tapping keys. A minute later he turned the screen to me so I could take a look.

'Robert Huffman,' Harvey said. 'Entrepreneur businessman. Multi-millionaire.'

Huffman was a good-looking guy. No doubt about it. He looked fit and healthy, and dressed the part. He was wearing a navy suit, white shirt, light red tie. He had a lot of upper-body definition that the suit couldn't disguise. Long slim legs. He looked like an athlete who'd retired from competition but had kept up his training regime. He had short, immaculately styled hair. It was growing grey, but it gave him that 'distinguished look' that people talk about. His face was tanned and lean.

Whoever had taken the photograph had caught him smiling, but I didn't buy the look. His lips were too tight and his dark eyes too cold. He had the black depthless gaze of a shark.

I stared at his photograph and I hated the bastard.

Harvey tapped keys and another shot of Huffman came up on the screen. He was younger in this shot. His hair was black. Still smiling without any emotion extending to his dead eyes. Except this time he was wearing an orange jumpsuit. There were numbers beneath his name.

'He's done time,' I said.

Harvey pointed at the name of the correctional unit. Seagoville. A federal prison on US Highway 75 to the south-east of Dallas. Not far from where we were.

'Minimum security,' Harvey said. 'Huffman did time, yeah, but it wasn't hard time.'

'What was he locked up for?'

'He cut a man's throat.'

'And he only went to a minimum security prison?'

'The charges were dropped from murder in the first when he hit the cops with a little quid pro quo,' Rink explained. 'He went state evidence against his former employers, the Texas Syndicate. In exchange for putting away the Felitta brothers, his charges were dropped to manslaughter. He did three years' soft time at Seagoville.'

'I'm surprised he made it out the other end. No one likes a grass.'

Harvey raised his eyebrows. 'No one fucks with Quicksilver.'

'Quicksilver?'

'That was Huffman's street name. He was the Dallas syndicate's top enforcer. By all accounts he was a very capable killer. No one was going to go against him.'

'Not when it was all a set-up,' Rink added.

'What kind of set-up?'

'There's an assumption that it was just a plot to get rid of the Felittas,' Rink said. 'His arrest allowed him to talk to the DEA out from under the eyes of his bosses. The Felittas were the supposed power in the syndicate, but Huffman was just bubbling away under the surface, ready to take over when he got his chance.'

'So he gave the DEA all they needed to put the Felittas away,' I said, 'with the intention of taking over where they left off? Criminals don't stand around when there's a gap in the market, I'd have thought some other outfit would have moved in while he was away.'

Harvey shook his head. 'It wasn't like that, Hunter. The other syndicates stayed out of the way. They left Dallas alone for when Huffman could come back. His actions with the Felittas have been forgiven by the other syndicate heads, if you get my meaning?'

'It suited them that the Felittas were out of the picture?'

'Yeah,' Harvey said. 'The Felittas were old school: no one wanted to deal with them any more. When he was released from prison the other syndicate heads welcomed Huffman back with open arms. In some eyes his going down for three years was seen as heroic; like he's some goddamn martyr to the cause.'