Deadly Hush by Douglas Stewart

Author:Douglas Stewart [Stewart, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-11T00:00:00+00:00

Roehampton

Ten hours previously, as one of the captors had spat out the command for him to kneel down, Danny Willison had done so. His knees trembling and hands shaking, the order was almost welcome. As he eased himself down, wincing from the pain in his ribs, the flagstone floor felt cold and hard. The blood was still trickling down and his lips tasted salty. Yet again, he cursed himself for ignoring the warnings.

This is how it all ends, Danny.

One mistake.

Now curtains.

Nearer to Jesus and eternal life.

Please God!

Not what I wanted so soon.

He started whimpering. Knees close together and sitting on his haunches, he shut his eyes as if that would help. With difficulty, he raised his hands in front of his face in silent prayer. He heard one of the gunmen move to stand behind him. The metal of the Luger was unmistakable. It felt so cold pressed just above the nape of his hot and throbbing neck.

“Don’t,” Willison simpered. “I’m nothing to you. Please don’t.” His voice now rose to sound shrill and strident. “I was just … only doing my job. Checking credit.”

“Shut it.”

Silence fell except for Willison’s laboured breathing.

“On the count of three.”

Again a long pause. Then Willison heard “One… Two… Three.” The trigger clicked and then nothing. The magazine had been removed. The captors both roared with laughter at their joke. “Next time, fucker, you get the right house. Now get up!”

Willison felt a boot slam into his buttocks. Only his outstretched hands saved him from toppling over as he struggled to stand. From his wet hands, he realised that the dusty floor had now been soaked by his freefall piss. With slow movements, he eased himself to a stooped position. Then, as he tried to straighten, a searing, burning pain ripped across his ribs.

“Move. Now!” Like it or not, another prod of the gun propelled him on his journey, this time towards the main gates. Willison realised that his right eye was now completely closed. Every step was painful and his whole body was shrieking at him to stop. Fat chance of that.

As they crossed the eighty metres to the gates, they swung open. The entire area was bathed in light. To Willison’s left, he saw Valbona Jakupi’s home. Short of Buckingham Palace, it was the grandest place he had ever seen. All that was missing was a platoon of soldiers in their busbies and a marching band.

Heroin and cocaine had bought every brick.

“Go! Next time, find the right house you stupid fucker.” In guttural broken English the words still carried menace. A boot lashed into his left thigh. He stumbled and tottered into the darkened street like a drunk at chucking-out-time. It took him nearly twenty agonising minutes to reach his car. Stooping to retrieve the keys made him wince but somehow, he made it. Panting, he sat motionless in the car for several minutes before firing up the engine. Home was a fifteen-minute journey. There, hungry with no take-away, mentally and physically drained and stinking of stale sweat and piss, he showered till the water ran cold.

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