Nothing Personal: Part Thirteen

~ beetleypete

This is the thirteenth part of a fiction serial, in 746 words.

As he drove out of the airport, the two women in the back were already preoccupied with chatting about the meetings the next day. Like many people used to being driven around, they paid no attention to their surroundings, and acted as if the driver was deaf. It wasn’t until he drove off the main road into the park that Shonagh noticed the diversion.

“Excuse me, where are we going?” He was apologetic.

“Sorry, it must have been the coffee I had while waiting for the plane to land. There’s a public toilet here, I won’t be long”.

They went back to their conversation.

The grey van was at one end of the car park, and as he got closer, he could see Jimmy getting out of the driver’s side. Reversing into the space next to the van, Clive left the engine running as he jumped out. “I’ll be as quick as I can, ladies”. He was already wearing gloves, nobody took any notice of chauffeurs wearing gloves.

Opening the lid of the boot, he pulled the AK-47 from the golf bag and started shooting from the side, through the back window. Shonagh was hit first, at least five rounds into the back of her head. Bernadette seemed to be frozen in her seat, unable to comprehend what was happening. She got the next burst into the right-hand side of her face and head.

Jimmy was already dragging a body out of the back of the van, a man about forty years old, dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and tie. A runner went past, headphones over his ears, and apparently oblivious to what was going on. Clive walked around to the rear door on Shonagh’s side, opened it, and emptied the magazine into the bodies of both women, deliberately leaving the cartridge cases all around on the ground. Then he threw the AK into the car, along with the spare magazine that he hadn’t needed.

The harsh tones of Jimmy’s accent shook him out of the momentary distraction.

“Get the bomb, and there’s a can of petrol in the van. Torch it”. Clive grabbed the golf bag from the back, removed the explosive device, and threw the bag into the car. Jimmy took a pistol of some kind from the waistband of his jeans. Propping the body up in the driver’s seat, he fired two rounds into the dead man’s head through the window, then threw the gun into the footwell.

As he straighted up, Clive shot him twice in the chest with the Bulldog .44. The look on Jimmy’s face was complete surprise. Walking over to fire the third shot into his forehead, Clive could see he was already dead. But he fired it anyway, and dropped the gun onto the tarmac. Not even bothering to waste time looking around, he walked over to the van, emptied the five-litre can over the inside of it, and then set two minutes on the timer of the bomb. The Jag exploding would set fire to the van, he was sure of that.

Flicking the timer switch, he saw a red light come on, dropped the bomb into the back of the Jag, and started to walk quickly away from the scene. The two minutes was barely enough, and the explosion was bigger than he had anticipated. But he was safely behind a large tree as it went off.

With the flames and smoke heading up into the night sky, he kept walking to where he knew there was a pedestrian exit from the park. Once he was clear of the park and walking down in the direction of the roundabout and the main road, the sirens of the emergency vehicles were loud enough to indicate that they were not too far away. He took off the gloves as he walked, and put them into a pocket of his jacket.

By the time he reached the junction with the main road his breathing had gone back to normal, and he slowed his pace. He looked like any office worker making his way home after work.

There was no taxi waiting, and he couldn’t afford to hang around. So he continued walking along Newham Way until he saw a taxi with its light on. Flagging it down, he asked to be taken to the Hilton Hotel in Canary Wharf. In the bar there he ordered a large cognac and sat for a long time.

He needed to calm down.

31 thoughts on “Nothing Personal: Part Thirteen”

  3. the taxi not being there seems a red flag, wonder if Alison is up to something, and wanted him caught. very well written action scene Pete, and a cognac or two are certainly needed no doubt.

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  5. (1) As Clive drove out of the airport, the two women in the back were already preoccupied with chatting about the meetings the next day.
    Shonagh: “I’ll introduce you to my great-grandfather, Damien Cleary, who has been shacking up for years now with an old flame of his. Her name is Miss Baylock. You’ll meet her next. Apparently, the two of them get a kick out of telling horror stories while playing a game of Rook with their guests.”
    Bernadette: “Wow! Sounds like we’ll have a helluva good time. Is it true that everyone down there is naked?”
    Shonagh: “Yes, the inferno is so intense that it burns your clothes right off. Skin and hair burn, too, but somehow they remain intact…forever!
    (2) Bad citation: “Opening the lid of the Golf GTi’s boot, Clive pulled out one of his fairway woods from the rifle case and swung the club at the car from the side, sending the first of five balls through the back window. The first ball grazed Shonagh’s head. The second ball raised a lump on her head. The third ball cracked open her skull. The fourth ball put a round hole in her skull. And the fifth ball sank deep into her brain, killing her. Clive shouted, ‘That’s a birdie! One under par!’ He wasn’t as lucky when it came time to kill Bernadette. As for Jimmy, he simply used the bloke’s neck as a tee, and knocked his head off with a powerful swing. He hoped it would come to rest somewhere in the fairway, but, unfortunately, it ended up landing in the rough.”
    (3) By the time Clive reached the junction with the main road his breathing had gone back to normal. Eventually, he became so relaxed that he dozed off. Clive ended up sleepwalking to the nearest pub, where he ordered a cup of coffee. Waking up, he thought, “Not bad, but if I’m going to go forward with this game, I need to improve my aim… Killing Shonagh and Bernadette? No problem. They had it coming. As for Jimmy? Well, too bad. But he knew the score.”

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    1. There was supposed to be a London taxi waiting for them along the street, driven by another agent. It wasn’t there. So now he has to wonder if that was deliberate on the part of Alison.

      Best wishes, Pete.

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