Riot Page 32

  “Can we get down to the basement?” said Mikey.

  “Nah,” replied Chris. “They’ll have sealed it off. That’s why everyone’s got stuck here and started fighting. It’s either stay here or go back up. Personally I’m voting for up.”

  Jez and Mikey nodded and headed back up the stairs. They’d only got a third of the way up when Carl appeared above them, drenched in so much blood his clothes weren’t even visible anymore. It even coated his face and stubbly head.

  “Pretty boys,” he whispered, the words running down the stairs towards them.

  “For fuck’s sake,” exclaimed Jez. “He’s like a cockroach, impossible to kill.”

  They were about to retreat, not wanting to fight the lunatic in such a disadvantageous position when they were hemmed in by a group of five men, all brandishing weapons of various nastiness and likewise caked in blood and gore, albeit not as much as Carl. Mikey recognised one of the men as the owner of the car lot they’d torched. The three of them were trapped between the descending psycho and the ascending group of angry men.

  Mikey and Jez raised their weapons, prepared to fight to the death while Chris whimpered between them, offering up a frantic prayer for help.

  Two of the men ascending the stairs suddenly vanished from view when thick arms were wrapped around their necks and they were dragged back onto the twos. Mikey kicked the lead man in the face, knocking him back into his remaining friends and the three of them tumbled down the steps. Mikey and Chris watched as hands grabbed the men by the front of their shirts, their eyes bulging in terror as they were hauled back onto the landing and out of sight.

  “A little help here,” called Jez, who was frantically fending off Carl’s grasping hands. Carl was drooling while chanting pretty boy, the saliva creating clear tracks through the blood on his face.

  Mikey hurled the wrench, which spun end over end and whacked Carl in the centre of the forehead. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell backwards onto the stairs.

  “Thanks,” breathed Jez.

  Mikey looked down the stairs when their saviours came into view. At first he thought it was more men wanting revenge, until he realised the glowering man with blood splattered across his face was Vance Chambers.

  “You okay?” Vance asked them.

  Mikey nodded.

  “You’re better off staying up on the threes,” he told them. “It’s fucking bedlam down here. Any minute they could send in the army, they’re the only ones capable of stopping this chaos. The Tornado Team’s already been twatted and tossed back out. You don’t want to be caught up in this when they come in, it won’t do your case any good.”

  “Come with us,” he said, surprising himself but Vance and his friends had probably just saved their lives.

  “I’m in for life for murder anyway,” he said, blue eyes gleaming. “I might as well have some fun.”

  He turned to charge back into the fray but Mikey halted him.

  “Thank you,” he called.

  Vance glanced over his shoulder and nodded. Mikey got the feeling it had been a long time since anyone had said that to him.

  “Behind you,” yelled Mikey.

  Vance swung round, fist slamming into the throat of the man who had been about to bash him over the head with a broken chair leg. He propelled the man backwards until his back banged against the metal rail, spun him around and bounced his head off the rail. Vance snatched the chair leg from his hand and whacked a second prisoner in the jaw with it, blood spraying from the man’s mouth, spattering one side of Vance’s face.

  Mikey was impressed. This man could handle himself. Jules had been right, he would be an asset to their firm, if he wasn’t stuck in prison.

  Vance’s head whipped round at the sound of a small explosion, the fighting momentarily ceasing. “The army’s coming in,” he said.

  “Quick, upstairs,” said Jez.

  Mikey, Jez and Chris ran back up to the threes, skirting around the unconscious serial killer. Vance grabbed his four friends and followed.

  “Fucking hell,” exclaimed Jez when he reached the top, Mikey almost crashing into his back when he came to a sudden halt.

  “What is it?” said Mikey.

  He stood aside to allow the rest of the men up.

  “Who the hell did that?” said Vance.

  “That psycho,” replied Chris. “The Make-Up Killer.”

  The men who had initially confronted Mikey and Jez were strewn across the landing, blood spatter up the walls and across the floor. Their eyes, cheeks and lips had been daubed with their own blood. As Carl didn’t have any make-up to hand he’d improvised.

  “If we stay here they’ll think we did this,” added Chris.

  “No they won’t,” said Vance, the police officer in him rising to the surface, wiping away the blood on his face with his sleeve. “The person who attacked them would be caked in blood, which we aren’t.” He looked to his friends. “Come on lads,” he told them. “We’ll wait over here.”

  “No,” said Mikey, knowing they were only separating themselves off so as not to damage Mikey and Jez’s reputations. “You’ll wait here with us.”

  Vance nodded his gratitude and their weary group sank to the floor, backs against the wall, listening to the noise below. From the sound of it the army had broken through and were subduing the situation. The deafening din had morphed into shouts to get the fuck down on the floor, followed by the clang of dozens of large male bodies complying.

  It wasn’t long before a group of black clad ninjas appeared at the top of the stairs, yelling at their exhausted group to lie down, pointing submachine guns at them.

  They all obeyed and placed their hands on their heads. Each of them was individually cuffed, hands behind their backs before being allowed to sit up.

  Even the soldiers, who were clearly an elite unit, were shocked by the mess further down the landing.

  “That wasn’t us by the way,” said Mikey. “That was The Make-Up Killer.”

  The intense gazes from within the balaclavas were briefly turned his way before the soldiers approached the group of men lying on the floor. They pressed their fingers to the necks of three of them and shook their heads, however it seemed one was still clinging onto life.

  Two soldiers remained, watching over them while the rest carried on up to the fours. After a brief sweep they returned. All the men capable of walking were ordered to their feet and marched off the wing. They were glad to see that Brendan and his two friends were alright, if a little battered and bruised.

  “God it’s good to be out of that place,” said Mikey as they were led outside the wing, tilting his face to the night sky to breathe in the fresh air, attempting to clear out the stench of smoke.

  “Yeah, great,” replied Jez distractedly. Now the imminent danger was over he wondered whether he and Mikey would resume their previous disagreement or if uniting in the face of adversity would be enough to get them through their falling out. He hoped it was the latter. After seeing Mikey fight The Make-Up Killer he was glad their own fight had been interrupted. If it hadn’t he would have come off worse. It would be wise for him to bear in mind that between the two of them and despite his own considerable skills, Mikey would always win.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Oh thank God. The riot’s over,” breathed Jules. She’d been glued to the television in the lounge of The Manor ever since she’d learned of the riot, Ryan by her side. “It took the fucking SAS to break it up but finally it’s over. They’re marching the prisoners outside.” She leapt to her feet. “Fucking hell, Mikey and Jez are outside. There they are,” she cried, pointing at the television screen. “What if Declan’s there with his sniper rifle?”

  “Have you got a police contact you can call?” said Ryan.

  “Yes,” she said, snatching her phone up off the coffee table.

  After some frantic debate down the phone she stamped her foot. “Look, this isn’t up for debate. Get them inside now before they get shot, un
less you want all your little pals in blue to know that you’ve been taking backhanders from us for the last four years.” Her lips curled into a smile. “Thought so.” She hung up and regarded her brother with an exasperated expression. “The dick’s finally onto it. Carter,” she yelled so loud she made Ryan wince.

  Carter dashed into the lounge. “Something wrong?”

  “I want you to get down to the prison. Declan doesn’t know your face. They probably won’t let you near but keep an eye out for him.”

  “And if I do see him?”

  “Tell the nearest copper. I don’t like running to them but they’re the only ones who’ll be able to stop him if he does try taking pot shots and our priority is Mikey and Jez’s safety.”

  “On it Boss,” he said before leaving.

  “What about me?” said Shane, walking into the room. “I need to do something before I go demented.”

  “I’m afraid Squirt that you’re stuck here with me and Ryan while we have a competition of whose case of cabin fever will snap first, leading to a bloody rampage.”

  “Sounds a shit game,” he sniffed. “How about charades instead?”

  Jules’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a sure fire way to get a knife up the rectum.”

  “She would as well,” said Ryan.

  “I know,” replied Shane.

  Their attention was drawn back to the television when more footage of the prison came on the screen. The press had got hold of a helicopter, which showed a bird’s eye view of the prison, particularly the smouldering K wing.

  “The walls of the prison are so high I doubt any sniper would get a successful shot into the grounds,” said Ryan. “Neither are there any tall buildings around it Declan could shoot from. I think they’ll be safe.”

  “All the same, I’d feel a lot better if they were inside,” replied Jules.

  Both Ryan and Shane were rather touched when Jules stroked Mikey’s shrunken image on the television screen, her gaze for once soft and sad.

  “Well,” she said, straightening up. “Desperate times call for desperate measures. Once again I’m taking a leaf out of Alex’s book. It’s worrying me how often I’m doing that lately. Shane, you wanted something to do. Use your contacts to spread the word that I’m putting out a contract on Declan Maguire for a cool million. Five hundred thousand for information leading to his whereabouts.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. “That will certainly grab people’s attention.”

  “Good, that’s what I want. Every little shitey scrote in the city will tear the place apart looking for him. I just want the tosser gone.”

  “You’re sure you can trust Carter?” Ryan asked her.

  “As much as I can be. Without the help of a fortune teller I’m forced to go on a bit of faith but in all the years he’s worked for us he’s never let us down. What’s your take on him?”

  “I think he’s okay but I have been wrong before.”

  “Thanks big bruv, very reassuring.”

  Rachel couldn’t say she was surprised to see Liam Garrick at the school, waiting to collect his budding little pervert. As usual she’d waited in her car for the boys to come out. Now they were older they got embarrassed if she was standing at the gates waiting for them.

  Liam approached her car and knocked on the glass, making it impossible for her to ignore him.

  She wound down the window and glared up at him. “What?”

  “I just thought I’d pop over and say hello.”

  “Why? So you can gloat about how you vandalised Battler’s grave?”

  “What? His grave was vandalised? How terrible.”

  “Don’t give me that shit. Well it’s nothing that can’t be repaired. Soon it’ll be as though nothing happened. Is that the best you can do, pathetic childish pranks?”

  “Is that a challenge Rachel?” he said, leaning so far forward his head was almost in the car.

  “I’m saying you’re completely out of your depth. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

  “Your husband and that bald giant are away and your brothers-in-law are in prison. It’s just you, a woman, all alone.”

  “You underestimate women Liam. You think we’re all useless and that will be your downfall, I promise you that.”

  With that she wound up her window, forcing him to retract his head. He sauntered back to his Lexus, which was parked just a few spaces away. He got back into the driver’s seat and sat there, staring at her. It was a relief when her phone rang.

  “Rachel,” said Michelle’s voice. “Where are you?”

  “Picking up the boys. How did you get on with Jenna Garrick?”

  “I could ask you the same question. She said you approached her in the street. You’re not helping Ethan. She could have made any claims against you.”

  “I know and I’m sorry but I had to do something. This is driving me demented.”

  “I can understand that but please, leave this to me.”

  “Liam’s here.”

  “Has he approached you?”

  “Yes and he made his usual threats. He didn’t realise I was recording him on my phone,” she smiled, picking it up off the driver’s seat.

  “Nice one Rach. Did he say anything incriminating?”

  “Not enough to get him charged with anything but if he does end up inside a courtroom it wouldn’t do him any favours.”

  “It’s a start. I take it you’re going straight home after collecting the boys?”

  “I am.”

  “Leo’s on his way. He’ll meet you there.”

  The call was ended and Rachel looked back at Liam’s car. He was still staring at her.

  “Why do I always attract the freaks?” she sighed.

  “Are they going to keep us here all night?” yawned Mikey.

  They were sat on the floor of the exercise yard, leaning back against the wall. Their cuts had been attended to by a paramedic, who had wanted to take Jez to hospital to get the egg-sized lump on the side of his head checked out but he’d refused. It would be easy for Declan to get to him there. Neither did he want him anywhere near Cathy.

  “Looks like it,” replied Jez. “I suppose they’ve nowhere else to put us. At least it’s a warm night.”

  “I hope to God they don’t ship us off to another prison at the other end of the country. K wing isn’t going to be habitable for a while.”

  “Hopefully Jules will grease some palms to ensure we stay in Manchester. They might be able to bung us on another wing.”

  “Fingers crossed.”

  They watched with frowns as two prison officers bustled up to them. Judging by their pristine condition they hadn’t been anywhere near K wing when the riot had erupted.

  “You two,” barked one of them. “On your feet.”

  “Why?”

  “Just get up for God’s sake. We’ve had word your lives are in danger.”

  Mikey and Jez glanced at each other, both thinking Declan’s name and knowing this had come from Jules.

  They were ushered towards the nearest building, which housed the kitchens and ordered to sit at a small table away from the windows.

  “What is going on?” said Mikey.

  “We’ve had a threat against your lives, that’s all you need to know,” snapped one of the guards, who looked tired and tetchy. “So instead of banging on why don’t you say thank you?”

  “Thank you,” replied Mikey. “And it smells so much nicer in here.”

  The guard just glowered at him before retreating with his colleague to the door and only exit to stand on guard duty.

  Mikey and Jez looked at each other across the table. It had been easier when they’d been surrounded by other prisoners and therefore not free to discuss the elephant in the room.

  “Are we…,” began Jez.

  “I don’t know yet,” muttered Mikey.

  Jez went quiet, deciding it would be best to leave him to his own thoughts for a while.

  Declan mingled in with the crowd gat
hered around the prison. He’d been unable to find anywhere lofty enough to give him a view into the prison grounds, plus there were far too many police officers and soldiers around for him to be carrying a sniper rifle. From watching the news on his phone he new Mikey and Jez were vulnerable, sitting right out in the open but there was nothing he could do about it.

  Now the riot was over the crowd was starting to break up and drift off, although there were some hard core ghouls still hanging about, hoping for another outbreak of hostilities.

  Declan instead was watching the live stream from the helicopter buzzing overhead. On it he saw two prison officers rushing up to Mikey and Jez. They urged them to their feet then led them back inside, through another entrance away from K wing. Jules had obviously been calling in favours to protect two men who deserved to be killed slowly and painfully.

  He looked to his friend, who was standing at the other side of the crowd and nodded. The man nodded back and they casually wandered off, Declan allowing his friend to get ahead.

  They met up when they were a couple of streets away from the prison.

  “I knew it would be impossible to get at them there,” said Ronan, his friend from Dublin who had helped train him. An ex-soldier who was bored with life on civvy street, he’d jumped at the chance to come to Manchester with Declan and help him get revenge. He’d even brought one of his friends with him, who was similarly trained. Both men lived for danger and mayhem. They were useful allies. Ronan was a big, stocky bearded man with sandy hair and a slight limp from where he’d been shot by a soldier in Belfast.

  “You warned me,” sighed Declan. “But I had to try.”

  “You’re much better off targeting Mikey’s wife.”

  “I’ve been trying but I’ve no idea where their new headquarters are, no one does.”

  “We need to draw her out.”

  “Hmm, nice idea. The boys would be ideal but I don’t want to involve children.”

  “There are other ways. Target one of their businesses, something not too showy to make her reluctant to stick her neck out but serious enough that it has to be Jules herself who deals with it.”