Danielle Ramsay - Vanishing Point

He could hear his phone vibrating as he clung onto the car door with his head hanging over the ground.

‘This can’t be happening. Please God this can’t be happening …’ Brady said to himself. Again and again and again.

A car slowly drove past, the elderly driver and passenger watching him. They stopped and waited, not sure if he needed help.

Brady realised he must have looked as bad as he felt.

It was enough to bring him to his senses. He pulled himself up and slammed the car door shut.

Brady sat and stared blankly out the windscreen. Minutes went past as he sat there, not seeing the horizon or the North Sea. All he could see was that scar running down the left cheek of the man who had dumped Simone Henderson in the gents’. Every muscle in his body, every sinew was taut. Every nerve on edge; waiting. Not knowing what to think, let alone what to do. All he felt was blinding panic.

Brady could feel himself starting to hyperventilate. His breathing was coming in short, rapid bursts just as it had done when he’d finally come round in hospital to the knowledge that someone had tried to blow his balls off and that his wife had walked out on him.

He tried to focus on steadying his breathing. Remembering the technique Amelia had taught him in the hospital to control the panic attacks he had suffered after realising he had lost Claudia for good. He had explained the panic attacks away as a result of being shot and reliving the memory of hearing the handgun go off and simultaneously feeling the impact of the bullet. Amelia had never said as much, but she had known that he wasn’t suffering from post-traumatic stress from being shot. It was the shock of being left by the only person he had loved. Claudia was the one person he had opened up to and he never meant to hurt her, let alone drive her away.

Brady put his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slowly. But the face he had recognised on the tape kept tormenting him. He couldn’t shut it out.

He had to watch it again. Just in case he had made a mistake. In case Madley had made a mistake. It couldn’t be him. It just couldn’t.

Brady pressed play and then paused the DVD on the close-up of the figure’s face. But there it was, the three-inch, gnarled scar down his left cheek.

Brady stared at the image desperately trying to convince himself he was mistaken. But the longer he stared, the more certain he became that it really was him.

He looked at his phone. With shaking hands he started to key in a mobile number. He knew it from memory. He had never stored it in the phone just in case it fell into the wrong hands.

‘Come on!’ shouted Brady when he keyed in the wrong number.

His hands were shaking uncontrollably. He tried to breathe slowly, deliberately, in an attempt to steady his nerves. He keyed the numbers in again and pressed call.

He listened as the phone rang and rang.

‘Pick up… . pick up!’ urged Brady.

Eventually it cut to an automated voicemail. He disconnected the call and started keying in a London landline number.

He waited. The dial tone was dead. The phone had obviously been disconnected.

‘No … no …’ he muttered, his hands trembling as he cut the dead tone.

He didn’t know what to do next. It took him a minute to realise that he had no choice but to follow Madley’s advice.

He took out the piece of paper that Madley had given him. On it a mobile phone number was scribbled.

Brady keyed it into his phone and waited.

‘What?’ came the sharp answer.

‘Johnny?’ answered Brady. ‘It’s Brady … Jack Brady.’

‘What the hell do you want?’ Slaughter demanded. ‘And who gave you my fucking number?’ His hoarse voice had a heavy, thick East London accent. It was a voice that carried with it an air of sinister threat.

Slaughter didn’t want anyone getting close to him and used his brother, Billy, as a front man. There was a good reason why Billy was known amongst his friends and enemies as ‘Slash’. Anyone who came into contact with Billy never again crossed Johnny Slaughter.

‘Madley gave it to me,’ answered Brady.

He was certain there wouldn’t be any ramifications for Madley. He knew Slaughter and Madley looked out for one another. Madley took care of business if Slaughter ever needed it in the North East and the same applied with Slaughter in London.

‘And why the fuck would he do that?’

Brady steeled himself. ‘I need to know where Nick is.’

‘And how would I know where he is?’

‘Madley reckoned you’d know. That’s why he gave me your number. He’s in trouble, Johnny. Serious trouble and I need to find him before the police get him … or worse.’

‘Are you having a laugh or what?’

‘You know what I mean, Johnny. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t serious.’

‘You should keep a better eye on him. You being a copper an’ all!’

‘I can’t get hold of him. He’s not answering his mobile and his landline’s been disconnected.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me. He’s no doubt on the run!’

‘From who? You?’

‘If he knows what’s good for him, he will be! Nick stopped working for me a month back. Got involved with those Eastern European bastards who are coming over here and taking all our bloody money!’

It didn’t sound like Nick. At least, not the Nick he knew.

‘Are you sure?’ questioned Brady.

‘Too right I am. I saw him myself at Heathrow with two Eastern European Lithuaks!’

‘What was he doing?’ demanded Brady, knowing he wasn’t going to like the answer.

‘What do you think he was doing?’

‘I don’t know …’ pushed Brady.

‘Trading in goods is what. Him and his new Lithuak mates. Presumably waiting for what they’ve paid for to come off the plane and then they start trading with the other Lithuak shits who hang around there. Just come back from Spain and I run straight into your Judas of a brother. Bloody didn’t know where to look!’

‘Are they dealing in drugs?’ Brady asked.

He was silently hoping that was what the answer was going to be.

‘What didn’t you hear? I said he was in with some Lithuaks! Do you reckon they’re moral like us? Hell no! They’re evil shits. Dirty money is what they deal in. They bring in girls. Eastern European girls from back home, and they sell the poor buggers for the highest price as soon as they’re through customs.’

‘Shit!’ muttered Brady.

‘Yeah, that’s one word for it. I wouldn’t touch that trade if my life depended on it. I’ve got standards. And sadly, I thought Nick had too!’

With that, Johnny Slaughter hung up, leaving Brady worried. The last person he wanted hunting Nick down was Billy ‘Slash’ Slaughter.

He decided to call Nick again. He had no choice but to leave a voicemail.

He waited while the phone connected. It rang and rang before cutting to voicemail.

‘Nick? What the fuck are you doing? Call me, as soon as you get this. I’ll help you, OK? Whatever it takes, Nick, I’ll get you out of this …’

Brady stopped. He didn’t know what else to say so he hung up.

How he was going to help him, he didn’t know. But he was certain about one thing – he’d cross the line to save his brother. Regardless of his career. And that included not letting Madley’s new boy use him as target practice, nor giving Billy Slash-Slaughter the chance to redesign his face.

Chapter Eighteen

Brady thought long and hard about ringing Madley.

But he had no other option.

‘Martin?’

‘What did you find out?’ Madley asked, getting straight to the point.

‘Slaughter said that Nick stopped working for him a month back. That he’s got involved with some Eastern European guys.’