Credible Justice: Fighting Back

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CHAPTER ONE

Mark Fuller released the two bolts that secured his front door to the masonry and stepped into the dark winter evening. The howling wind greeted him and he shivered as an icy blast bit into his exposed face. He grabbed each side of his thermal hat and forced it over his ears. Cursing the weather, he walked along the path to his front gate, peering through the darkness, while pulling at his khaki jacket to stretch it over exposed parts of his chilled body. His squinted eyes pierced the darkness checking for warning signs that potential rivals or even the cops may lay in wait.

With his head bowed and hands shoved into his jacket pockets, he forced his way through the tortuous weather and headed for the local park. Fuller had to pay more attention to the path beneath his feet because of the poor lighting, finding it easier to keep his speed up by concentrating on where his next step landed. Every now and again, he lifted his eyes to make sure nobody was following him. Satisfied that there was no imminent threat, he patted the bag of white powder inside his jacket, and smiled. He will make a significant sum of money in the next few minutes pushing his drugs.

Once he entered the park, Fuller found himself in an expanse of green, compared to the estate he had just left. There was a slide in the middle of the cushioned area and when new, the wooden surround that enveloped the slide made a great shelter for the kids.

Now it’s charred from the effects of fire, and the floor is littered with old used syringes that Fuller’s customers left behind after getting their fix. As the footpath snaked its way through the park, it ran alongside the play area. There is no lighting, but that didn’t worry Fuller; he knew this route. In days gone by, he stopped and sold cocaine to the users under the slide. Now they have moved on and so has he, one of the big boys now.

He swaggered and picked up the pace and lifted his head, focused in one direction, a determined straight ahead. His eyes glistened at the sight of the exit, much closer to making his twenty grand. He blew a short whistling noise, smiled and relaxed.

Without warning, Fuller’s happy thoughts flew out of him. The legs buckled, and he fell onto all fours as a well-aimed baseball bat hit him behind the knees. His eyes closed and his mouth opened wide as severe pain registered in his brain, causing him to let out a curdling scream that ceased when a gloved hand appeared from behind and covered his mouth. Now on his knees, his body arched backwards and crashed to the ground. Fuller grabbed his attacker’s hand and drawing from his inner strength, he prevented the immediate risk of suffocation. For a split second he breathed again, gasping in the cold air and tasting sweet oxygen, when the bat struck him again on his left arm and a sickening crunching noise of breaking bone forced another scream.

Fuller, prostrate and semi-conscious, stared at the heavens. He observed the dark figure appearing in his line of sight and he ogled with desperation at the menacing human shape above him. With forced heavy breathing, he regained composure and stared at his attackers face; the balaclava was stretched to its limit, showing the eyes and part of the mouth.

A vapour of breath, seeping from the gap between the wool, created an image of the devil himself. The pain increased as the baseball bat pressed against his forehead for a few seconds. Pinned to the rough ground, he resigned himself to a further beating, and he trembled uncontrollably, terrified for his life. He wanted to shout out but was petrified into a useless mass.

The pressure from the bat on his head eased in slow but gradual stages, convincing Fuller, that he should brace himself for another attack. He tightened up as the hooded assailant, with an under swing of the weapon, hit home on the side of his left knee. His eyes closed, his mouth opened, and he turned his head to the left and planted his ear to the rough gravelled path. Through his right eye, he stared at the small pebble in front of his face. He swallowed hard when he heard a voice.

Justice may not have caught up with you, but it has now. These streets need to be cleansed of you scumbags and others like you, and whenever you hurt somebody, you will get hurt too.

The boots ruffled the gravel and swivelled away from the carnage. The assailant walked off into the darkness and disappeared from the broken and prostrate body, never looking back, never telling him why. He disappeared out of sight as Fuller was fading into an involuntary sleep. After a brief un-focused view of the stars, he closed his eyes and passed out.

***

Superintendent Mike Jackson sat in his office. He fiddled with his half-moon spectacles and stroked back his thinning grey hair. He looked at his watch and glanced at paperwork on his desk. With concern written over his face, he picked up a printout of the morning’s incident log and read the information once more. He looked at his watch again; almost nine o’clock, time for the meeting he had arranged with the duty uniformed Inspector, Denver Stone and Detective Inspector Ian Rogers.

Bang on time, they walked into the room. Their boss, with a point of a finger encouraged them to sit on the two waiting chairs in front of his desk. He looked again at the printout before he lifted his head and addressed the officers.

Well then, lads, I take it you have studied this morning’s logs, and in particular the assault in the park?

Yeah, Rogers said, I’m aware of that, boss. There’s no doubt someone’s gone over the top.

Bullshit, Stone said. He’s a burglar, a druggie, a thief who gets away with the vast majority of crimes he commits, thanks to lawyers who care more about lining their own pockets than the poor sods, whose lives Fuller had ruined. I find it difficult to have any sympathy for him, even if he’d drawn the last breath.

He was close to drawing his last breath, it’s just fortunate someone had found him in the park this morning, Jackson said.

Stone closed his eyes and grimaced, furious that he had allowed himself to show his feelings. He peered out of the window, staring at his own reflection, his rugged good looks, covered by a wavy flow of short brown hair.

What we think about Fuller isn’t the issue here, Jackson said. It’s clear that the attack was well planned and methodical. I want you two lads to sort it as soon as, so I’ll leave you to get your heads together. He left the room.

Look, Den! I understand what you said about Fuller and to be honest, we were in the planning stage of doing a raid on him.

Stone’s face reddened: What raid? If my memory serves me right, he got away with the last one on his house and how the hell did your lot find a kilo of cocaine in his place and he still got off with it?

Because other people were living there too! Rogers said. And one other admitted it and did time in prison.

For God’s sake, everyone knows Fuller is the head of a gang, and other people will take the rap if needed.

We have to follow procedure, Den, and somehow we have to get convictions by doing the right thing. God knows how much scrutiny we get in the way we deal with things.

I appreciate that, Ian, I do, but what happened to Fuller is a case of, ‘you live by the sword and you die by the sword’.

Except he didn’t die did he? Not this time anyway.

More the pity, Stone said.

Then we would be searching for a murderer.

Yeah okay, I’ve let enough steam off for now; how bad are the injuries? Stone asked.

The latest we have from the hospital is that Fuller has an arm in plaster, and has had surgery to repair the knee damage. An officer from the early shift is up there, trying to see if Fuller wants to make a complaint, but so far he has refused to do that.

He has upset somebody, maybe working another gang’s patch?

Rogers nodded: Could be that Fuller thought he was jumped by someone he had upset in his business. I sincerely hope it’s a one off.

Time will tell, Ian.

I will visit him at the hospital soon and I’ll see if I can get more from him.

Get what you can and keep in touch, Stone said.

No worries, Den. I’ll keep you up to date.

The afternoon shift had arrived for their 13.45 briefing ahead of their tour of duty. An air of excitement reverberated around the room as news about Fuller filtered through and comments flew around the room. A distinct lack of compassion amongst the officers in the meeting told its own story.

PC Steve Ryan was sitting, observing events from the corner of the room. More than most, he had reasons to celebrate the pain that Fuller had brought upon himself. He smiled and said nothing, just glancing from person to person, before catching the eye of his work partner Judy Snyder, who smiled and winked at him before she too joined in the character assassination of Fuller. The noise faded away as Stone entered the room to present the briefing. Taken aback by the abnormal noise level, he sat behind a desk, bemused by the unusual noise and general banter.

Okay, you lot, settle down; we are professionals, remember? They did what he asked, and as he allotted the duties for the tour of duty, he noticed Ryan had distanced himself from the melee.

Stone dismissed the officers and as they left the room, he watched Ryan collect his belongings and head out too.

Snyder walked up to Stone: Don’t worry, Sir. I’ll keep an eye on him. He’s no problem once the calls come in for us.

Thanks, Judy, he’s had a hard time and I wish he would take a few days off.

He would see that as an easy choice.

Yeah, he’s one on his own.

Snyder smiled and headed off to meet Ryan. Stone knew his good friend was safe hands. He tidied up his paperwork and set about his work.

Snyder was already at the vehicle and adjusting her body worn equipment when she saw Ryan coming to join her. It’s a big task to get into the cab, the transport wasn’t designed for someone to sit in comfort wearing a knife proof vest, radio, taser, canister of parva spray, a baton, and combat trousers.

In normal everyday life, Snyder’s a thirty-year-old regular American girl with long auburn hair, average height, and slim body and knew how to have fun when the situation warranted. The transformation when equipped for duty made her about a stone heavier and look like Robocop.

When armed on the ARV (Armed Response Vehicle), she looked more impressive.

Snyder wasn’t a stranger to the UK. She had lived there for a while when she was as a kid; her military father was stationed at RAF Lakenheath, as a Major attached to the 48th fighter wing. Now the officer exchange from the Bradley PD in Illinois, had given her another opportunity to re-visit as an adult.

Ryan, carrying his body armour, moved to the driver’s door. Clutching the door handle with his right hand, he pulled it open and with one swing of his left hand, the protective vest was thrown into the spare middle seat.

I hate that bloody vest, there’s more chance I will damage my back wearing it, than being shot or stabbed.

Oh good, you’re back to your normal self then, Snyder said.

Get stuffed, Yank.

Where have you been? I left the briefing after you.

I had some calls to make, why?

No reason, just worried about you.

I’m fine; anyway, you won’t be worrying about me when you go back to the States in a few months.

Oh, I will.

Ryan started up the van engine, but soon after knocked it off again.

Bollocks, we haven’t checked the prisoner’s cage.

Ryan jumped out of the van and opened one of the two doors that led into a caged area. For extra protection, there was a toughened Perspex divider fitted between the prisoner and the officers.

For God’s sake, someone has pissed himself in here! Ryan shouted.

Sorry I never noticed, Snyder said.

I’m not saying it was you Judy, he smirked

That’s good news.

Mind you, I wouldn’t be surprised either, knowing you.

You don’t know me that well.

Snyder jumped out the vehicle to get the mop and bucket and Ryan let her do it. Their cleaning up was cut short by a call for help over the radio.

Stone peered through the gap in the curtains. There were five male customers sitting around a table in the corner of the bar, all looking towards the middle of the room. The fear on their faces was enough to convince Stone that something sinister was taking place. He changed position to check out more of the room and sighed at the sight of a male standing behind a woman with his left arm around her throat and holding a samurai style sword in his other hand, waving it about beside the frightened hostage’s head. He noted the layout of the room.

Snyder and Ryan pulled up a few yards away; the only noise was the sloshing of water against the tyres off the wet road. The vehicle doors opened and the officers got out, leaving the doors ajar.

Stone communicated to other patrols: Can all units en route to the scene please make sure the two’s and blues are switched off? I want the area cordoned off, but do not come to the pub itself.

Den, what’s going on? Ryan said.

There’s a guy with a sword holding a woman in the centre of the room and I don’t think he knows we are here. We have five customers, but they are all in one corner as far as I can make out.

What do you think?

The ARV is about fifteen minutes away at least, so we need to do something if you’re up for it?

We are, Den. Snyder nodded.

Stone looked through the window once more. The armed male was increasing his shouting and waving the sword about with more purpose.

Okay, Stone said, if both of you can have your tasers ready… I need to borrow this guy’s stuff. Stone grabbed an astonished passerby and requisitioned his raincoat and umbrella.

Stone put on the coat and armed with the umbrella, he waited in the doorway for the signal to go in. When Ryan gave him the go ahead, he opened the door, holding the opened umbrella in front of him and sang his version of singing in the rain. The door closed behind him and he headed toward the group of people in the far corner of the room.

Ryan, watching from the window, gave the thumbs up to Snyder and they moved into position.

Stone sat down, still with the umbrella between him and the sword. The distraction had worked; the man’s attention wasn’t so focused on his hostage anymore.

Stone made sure he could see his target’s legs and lower torso in case of an attack.

Who are you? the target shouted, unable to see a face behind the umbrella.

Who wants to know? came the slurred reply.

Just keep out my way, or I’ll kill you and this slag.

I don’t mind; just kill her because I want a drink.

You can’t have one, so get out. I mean it, I’ll kill her and you as well.

Kill her first, the slag first, what do you think?

What?

She’s a woman, I can’t stand them… kill her, and we’ll both have a drink.

She’s my wife. Put your umbrella away, I can’t see you.

I nearly killed my wife last week; she was a slag like yours. The bitch used to get pissed up and give me a hard time, so I decided it was time to take her out, just the same as you want to kill yours, unless you’re too pissed to do it tonight?

I am pissed, but I can still do it.

No, you can’t, you’re a pussy.

I’ll fucking kill you first.

Pussy!

Shut up or you’re dead.

You’re all talk.

I fucking mean it.

Come on then, pussy.

Stone saw the target’s legs separate from the hostage and take a step forward in his direction. Standing up, with the umbrella between the two of them, he spun it fast, which encouraged the armed man to take another step forward. This time his singing was louder.

As he moved forward with speed, Stone reacted by standing up and launching the umbrella which was brushed aside by the sword, revealing the uniformed cop feet away. Again the sword was lifted into the air, his face full of hatred.

Suddenly, he froze, with the sword still pointing upwards, his eyes protruding from their sockets and his body shook. He fell to the floor, making little noise and a black boot landed on his right hand while he was still shaking.

Seconds later, the sword was released, and a boot kicked it out of harm’s way.

Snyder held the taser while her partner pulled the man’s hand behind his back; a show of resistance encouraged Snyder to shout, Stand clear, and pressed the trigger again, forcing another few volts into the prisoner’s body. There was no more resistance, and he was handcuffed with ease, drawing a round of applause from the corner of the room, but not from the hostage.

She made for Stone, Why did you tell him to kill me that was stupid?

But you’re alive.

Yeah, but you could have made him kill me.

I suspect he had that intention before I got here.

Well, it’s no wonder you are hated by everyone, she said and then stormed away.

Ryan smiled at Stone: The guy wants his coat back, Den.

Stone looked at the coatless man in the doorway. He appeared as if he had been in the shower wearing his clothes. The coat and umbrella were returned, but