I wasn’t sure whether to knock on the door. If he wasn’t expecting me, he’d be as meek as a lamb, if he was, then I was as likely to be met by a shotgun blast as a cup of tea, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who kept guns lying around the house. As I was deliberating this, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye, a face at the window.
It was Miller – and he looked scared.
And then he was gone.
From the look on his face there was no way he was opening the door to me. Any last doubts I’d had about Miller disappeared in an instant. It was him all right. Palmer had got the right name.
I pulled out the Glock and legged it down the side of the farm house. Miller must not have been expecting to see me again after Friday night, so now he knew something had gone wrong. I was looking ahead as I ran, hoping to get a shot at him as he flew out of his back door, so I didn’t realise I was too close to the metal dustbin that stood against the wall. My knee connected with its edge as I ran by and I cried out as it knocked me off balance and I fell face first onto the ground. He must have been keeping bricks in there or something ‘cos it was as solid as rock but I didn’t care about that right now, because all of a sudden there was Miller up ahead of me.
He moved pretty fast for an older guy. He must have torn through his house and out the back door because he’d almost reached his studio already. I was still moving when I aimed and I was going to let loose a shot but, before I could, he threw open the door to the studio and disappeared inside.
I had about a second to think it through. I could take my time and wait. I could go back and get Danny who was in the car outside, but I’d already told him I would handle it. I had my reasons for that and they had nothing to do with ego. There were times when the guy giving the orders had to earn the right to give them. Cutting up Gladwell was one of them, this was another. Plus, I didn’t want to lose momentum or give Miller the chance to grab a gun and find a nice safe spot to hide behind and phone the police. I tore after him, wrenched the door open and pointed my gun straight ahead, half expecting him to be standing there doing the same thing. I knew I’d have to be quick and accurate or he’d do for me before I could get him in my sights.
Nothing.
Just silence in the dark corridor and those bloody photographer’s lamps shining brightly up ahead of me like searchlights, casting strange deep shadows, anyone of which could have been hiding Miller. I edged my way slowly forward, keeping the gun pointed straight ahead of me. I had no idea what to expect. I hadn’t a clue what he kept in here. There’d be a gun somewhere no doubt, knowing his line of work, but was it a.38 or a Kalashnikov? I was sweating because I knew that, in here, anything could happen. I could be outgunned, outthought and out of my depth but I pressed on regardless. Our-young-’un always used to say about the Paras: they kept moving, always forward, always pressing, so they didn’t lose momentum.
‘You sold us all out Miller,’ I called, hoping I sounded a lot harder than I felt. ‘I know it and you know it, so I’m coming for you now.’ His answer? A bullet that he sent my way from god knows where. It ricocheted then echoed in the tight confines of the metal studio, creating a din that made my ears ring. This was the first time I’d been shot at and I tried to stay calm. I told myself he couldn’t possibly hit me from wherever he was hiding, or I’d have seen him by now.
Knowing Miller, he’d most likely have a Colt or a Browning, something non-flashy, old school. My heart was thumping again. The gun felt loose in my sweating palm and I was scared I was going to drop it. I was so close to finishing all this, to taking out the guy who had given Gladwell all the information he needed about our firm, then it would be over – and that was the scary part. I felt like those soldiers who knew the war was nearly finished, the enemy had surrendered and they’d won but they’d still got streets and houses to clear and they didn’t want to get shot by some mad housewife or deranged grandad.
‘The gun isn’t going to help you Miller. Not after what you did,’ I was slowly edging my way along the corridor towards the bright lights, ‘Geordie Cartwright was a soft touch, with his debts and the promise of some easy cash, wasn’t he? You sold him out to Tommy Gladwell but the Russians are all dead and so is Tommy. Now you’re fucked and you know it. There’s nowhere to go from here but down,’ Another shot hit the wall to my left so I was thinking he had to be somewhere to my right, but it was a big place and he had the advantage. If I was going to get to him I’d have to come out of this narrow corridor and then I’d be an easy target. I remembered the layout and prayed he hadn’t changed things around since I was last there. I went down low, lying flat on the ground, then I bent my arm round the corner and fired once. The noise of my gun going off was deafening in here. It couldn’t be long before some distant neighbour of his called the police. Danny must have heard the shots and he’d be wondering what to do. I’d told him to stay outside but it would be just like him to burst through the door to save me. I didn’t want him killed because of my stupidity.
Miller answered my round with two more harmless shots and I gambled he’d want to conserve what was left of his ammo. I climbed into a sprinter’s stance, kept low and launched myself forward, all the time expecting a third shot. I must have caught him by surprise because I made it behind the big metal girder before he could fire again and I was safe, for now, as long as I didn’t move.
I was better off here than in the corridor but he still had the advantage. He knew my location and I hadn’t a clue where he was. If I had a plan at this point I didn’t know it myself. I was just hoping I could somehow draw him out, get him to betray his position with another shot and finish him. I wasn’t a bad shot but that was against paper targets on a firing range, not a living person who could move and shoot back. I was about to swing out an arm and fire again when something happened that completely threw me. Abruptly, all the lights went out.
Fuck. It was pitch black, so dark I could no longer even see the gun I was holding in front of me. The bloody windows must have all been blocked up with blackout blinds, so his nuddy girls got some privacy while he took their picture, and now he’d thrown the switch.
I heard a noise and strained my ears to work it out. Miller was moving. He knew where I was. He knew the room and I didn’t. I could hear him slowly edging his way round to get me and there was nothing I could do about it. I was starting to feel panicked.
The sounds he was making were so slight I couldn’t place him and I knew I didn’t have long. In a few seconds he would be right on top of me. He could fire at me from point-blank range and I wouldn’t even see him. There was nothing I could do because I couldn’t even see the bastard.
Desperately I thrust my hand into my pocket, grabbed my mobile phone and jabbed at it. It gave off a little light from the screen but I had to risk that. The phone took its time before it gave up the feature I was looking for. I scrolled down the contacts book quickly, sweat making my hand clammy. I found the name I was looking for and dialled.
It turned out he was right by me, even closer than I thought. The sound of his mobile phone going off in his jacket pocket was deafening in the silence of the studio.
As last words go his weren’t particularly memorable, just ‘shit, fuck!’ as he scrambled to silence it. As he reached the phone he must have known it was me that was dialling him. I like to think he had a millisecond to realise I’d outwitted him before I aimed the gun straight at the noise and sent four shots rapidly in his direction.
When the sound finally died down, there was a sort of strangled gurgle coming from the floor. I had to make sure he was no longer a threat to me. I walked carefully towards the nearest wall, pointing the gun in Miller’s direction before feeling around behind me until I found the thick blackout blinds. I wrenched one of them right off the wall and the moonlight shone down onto him.
Miller was lying face up, trying to cough out the blood from his shattered lungs as it filled his airways, the dark stain spreading all over his chest, proof that I had hit him more than once. His gun lay harmlessly on the ground a few feet from him. I walked over and trod on it, whilst aiming my gun at him, then kicked it to one side. I made sure he could see me.
‘Why did you do it Miller?’ I asked a man who had once been a big part of my extended, dysfunctional family, ‘tell me it wasn’t just for the money.’
He opened his mouth and it looked like he was trying to speak but the only thing that came out was more blood. He was choking on it.
I didn’t say anything else. I knew I was never going to get his story now. He was too far gone. Miller couldn’t have explained his treachery if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t even get the words out. So I put it down to good, old-fashioned greed.
Miller had always said he was an atheist. I knew he didn’t believe in anything after this life but oblivion. Sure enough, he looked terrified as he died.