Simon Green - A Hard Day's Knight

“You happened, Mr. Taylor.” He was aiming his gun at a spot directly above my groin. A disabling shot but not a deadly one. He didn’t want me dead. Not yet. Which gave me the advantage even if he didn’t realise it. I raised an eyebrow, to indicate that he should continue, and he couldn’t stop himself. The words came pouring out, as though he’d been rehearsing them for years. “After you went away, after you abandoned me, I had to look after myself. Turned out I was really good at it. I never realised how much you were holding me back. I stopped working for other people and went into business for myself. And now ... I’m the boss. I’m the man. I run things in this territory. I bought up all your debts and put a price on your head. You owe me, Mr. Taylor.”

“The money, or for not saying good-bye when I left?”

“You never valued me, Mr. Taylor. Never respected me. Even after all the things I did for you.”

“I paid you the going rate, like everyone else. And I treated you better than most. I thought we had fun along the way. Didn’t we have fun, rescuing the good people from the bad guys, righting wrongs, and dropping the ungodly right in it? I may not have been the most successful private eye in London, but I like to think I made my mark. With your help.”

“Don’t talk to me like I was your friend, or even your partner. You used me.”

“That’s what you were for, Russell. You were an informer, the lowest of the low, despised by all. You had no principles and less dignity. You would have sold your mother’s organs for transplant while she was still alive for the right offer. At least I gave you a good purpose in life. Now put the gun down, Russell. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh, but it does, Mr. Taylor. With you gone, and all the enemies you’d made circling like vultures, I had to learn to look after myself. And the first thing I learned was that a gun makes all the difference. A small man can be a big man if he’s got a gun, and the guts to use it. Much to my surprise, I found I had. Actually, I enjoyed it. I’ve come a long way since you were last here, and I enjoyed every nasty bit of it. Kneel down, Mr. Taylor. Kneel down and say you’re sorry.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll shoot your kneecaps out, for starters. Then ... I’ll take my time. Enjoy myself. I do so love to hear my enemies scream.”

“You should never go back,” I said. “People are never how you remember them. I’m really very disappointed in you, Russell.”

“Kneel down and beg for your life!”

“No,” I said. “I don’t do that.”

I stared into his eyes, holding his gaze with mine, and I saw fear fill his face as he realised he couldn’t look away. The hand holding the gun trembled as he tried to pull the trigger and found he couldn’t. I stepped forward, holding his will firmly with mine. Blood seeped out from under his eyelids and spurted from his nose. He whimpered once as I took the gun out of his hand and tucked it into my coat-pocket. And then I let him go, and he fell to the floor, shuddering and crying out.

“I’m a whole new man myself these days, Russell,” I said easily, turning my back on him as I headed for the door.

“You bastard.” I looked back, and Russell had forced himself up onto his knees, so he could glare at me through blood-shot eyes. “You still don’t respect me!”

“Yes, well, there’s a reason for that, Russell. I’ve flushed things I respected more than you. Now I really must be going. Important things to be about; you know how it is. A shame it had to come to this ... Don’t let the past define you, Russell. You can’t move on if you’re always looking back over your shoulder.”

“Bastard!”

Words of wisdom are just wasted on some people. I walked out the door and stepped cautiously out onto the landing. I could hear the armed men milling about in the lobby below. And then Russell raised his voice in a vicious, commanding scream.

“He’s up here! Taylor’s up here! Get up here and find him! Forget the taking-him-alive shit; I want him dead! Dead! Ten grand bonus to whoever brings me his head, so I can piss in his eyes!”

A whole army of men came clattering up the stairs, heavy feet slamming on the complaining wooden steps. I moved silently down the landing towards them, then slipped into the office before mine and hid behind the open door. Some tricks are classics. A whole bunch of very heavy people moved purposefully along the landing, slamming open each door they came to. I braced myself and took the impact on my shoulder, gritting my teeth to make sure I didn’t make a sound. The thug stepped into the doorway, looked quickly round the empty office, and moved on. Not all thugs are brain-dead muscle; but that’s usually the way to bet.

I eased forward, peering carefully round the edge of the door. The armed men had come to a halt, clustered before my open office door. Russell was yelling at them, but they simply stood there and took it. Probably part of their job description. Russell looked like he was the sort who’d enjoy yelling at people. All of the thugs were carrying guns, in a very professional way. Mostly pistols, a few sawn-off shotguns. I counted twenty-two armed men, in all; rather a lot, to bring down one man. Especially since I’d never been considered that dangerous, back in the day. Either Russell was taking no chances on me disappearing again, or ... someone had been talking.

Twenty-two armed thugs. In a very confined space. Oh well, you have to make a start somewhere.

I slowly eased round the office door and padded carefully down the gloomy corridor until I could ease in behind the man at the very back of the crowd. I slipped an arm round his throat from behind and had him in a choke hold before he knew what was happening. I dragged him quickly back into the adjoining office, tightened the hold till he was well out, then lowered him carefully to the floor.

Suzie had taught me a lot of useful grips and holds. Often during foreplay.

I stepped out of the office, strolled casually down the corridor, and tapped the shoulder of the man in front of me.

“Who are we after?” I murmured into his ear.

“Some scumbag called Taylor,” said the thug, not looking round. “Word is he owes the boss, big-time.”

“Taylor,” I said. “That’s a name from the past.”

The thug shrugged briefly. “Should never have come back. The boss has a real hard-on for this guy.”

“What a perfectly appalling mental image,” I said. “Is this all of us? Any more coming?”

“No; we’re it. But watch yourself; this Taylor’s supposed to be a bit tricky.”

“Oh, he is,” I said. “Really. You have no idea.”

Something seemed to occur to the thug, and he turned to look back at me. His eyes widened as he realised who he’d been talking to. He opened his mouth to give the alarm, and I kneed him briskly in the balls. His eyes squeezed shut, and he dropped to the floor. Other members of the crowd before me began to turn round, sensing something was wrong. I took out the sachet of coarse pepper I always keep in my coat-pocket, tore it open, and threw the granules right into their faces. They cried out in shock and pain as fierce tears ran down their faces, blinding them; and then the sneezing and the coughing started, convulsing their bodies as their lungs heaved for air. Never go anywhere without condiments. Condiments are our friends.

I moved quickly forward, forcing my way through the hacking, teary-eyed, almost helpless thugs, handing out nerve pinches, low blows, and the occasional really nasty back elbow when the opportunity presented itself. I slammed thugs against the wall, sent them crashing to the floor, and even tipped a few over the railings. Not one of them even managed to lay a hand on me.