chair and crashing against a bookshelf. Ring binders
from the next shelf up rained down on his head and shoulders. He collapsed into
the corner.
John put a foot
into his stomach as he tried to rise. His head clipped the wall, another jolt
of pain stunning him like a hammer blow. John ripped the wire from his
computer's modem and looped it around Michael's throat, pulling on it as he
pinned him against the wall with his foot.
He felt a fiery
heat rising in his cheeks and the uncontrollable urge to convulse. Dribble
drained from the corners of his mouth. He kicked his feet about, banging on the
floor and knocking the table, but John wouldn't relent.
The door handle
turned. “Hey, open up. Mike, Mike? Open the door, for Christ's sake.”
Michael tried to
shout, but his words came out as a rasping noise. John bared his teeth, as he
tightened the cable even more. A round little hole appeared in the door,
scattering several splinters of wood and paint. A moment of silence passed.
Eleven more holes appeared in the door.
John fell to the
ground, and Michael ripped the cable off. He went down on his hands and knees,
wheezing.
“Mike, you okay?
Is he dead?”
He didn't say
anything, and a burning line remained in his throat. He rose several seconds
later and unlocked the door. John was still moving, but a puddle of blood
seeped across the laminate floor beneath him.
Michael grabbed
the front of his shirt and lifted him up an inch. “Start talking, or I'm going
to spill your guts.”
“I think he's
doing that anyway. Come on, you're not going to get anything out of him,”
Richard said.
John stopped
breathing, and Michael let the corpse drop.
“Who was he,
anyway? I saw him through the first hole I put in the door. He didn't even
flinch. A passive-aggressive, pasty-faced guy with glasses; I'd buy him as a
serial rapist, but that? That was pretty extreme.”
“Let's find
out,” Michael said, taking the paper from the desk. “We'll need to get Harris
to check these numbers out. They were the only thing he hadn't disposed of
yet.”
“Stinks like
hell in here. He must have been burning this stuff all day.”
Michael stopped
in the doorway and looked back at the corpse. “Hey, thanks. I mean it, I was
dead; he had me.”
Richard shrugged
with the slightest of smiles. “Don't worry about it. I know everyone is always
talking rubbish behind my back, but I get something right every now and then.
That was the first time I've ever killed anyone.”
“How do you
feel?”
“Excited, tense.
I used just work up briefings for the fire teams, and I never went out on
patrol. They needed somebody to work detective enquiries, but people with
combat experience on the streets were too valuable to be used on that stuff, so
they got me instead.”
They went into
the bedroom, ripping open drawers and cabinets, tossing piles of clothes onto
the floor. Richard drummed his fingers on something hard at the bottom of a
drawer. “I've got a briefcase.”
He flipped two
latches and opened it. “Check it out, he was a ninja.”
“What?”
“I'm not joking.
He has fucking ninja stars. Look,” Richard said. He held up a stainless steel
star with four razor points. “What's the point? Do they even teach people to
use these any more? You can't shoot through a door with a ninja star.”
“They're called
shuriken. Find anything else?”
Richard
pretended to throw the shuriken at the wall, and then hissed. The shuriken fell
from his grasp and embedded itself in the floor with a thump. “Ah, I cut my
finger.”
“I've got three
passports and two memory sticks hidden in a compartment here. What do you think
the odds are that he moonlights as something other than a lobbyist?”
Richard sucked
the blood from his finger. He grimaced. “I think this whole case just keeps on
getting dodgier. He covered himself pretty good, though. There's sod all in
here to go on. Those memory sticks are probably encrypted, and those phone
numbers and
from the next shelf up rained down on his head and shoulders. He collapsed into
the corner.
John put a foot
into his stomach as he tried to rise. His head clipped the wall, another jolt
of pain stunning him like a hammer blow. John ripped the wire from his
computer's modem and looped it around Michael's throat, pulling on it as he
pinned him against the wall with his foot.
He felt a fiery
heat rising in his cheeks and the uncontrollable urge to convulse. Dribble
drained from the corners of his mouth. He kicked his feet about, banging on the
floor and knocking the table, but John wouldn't relent.
The door handle
turned. “Hey, open up. Mike, Mike? Open the door, for Christ's sake.”
Michael tried to
shout, but his words came out as a rasping noise. John bared his teeth, as he
tightened the cable even more. A round little hole appeared in the door,
scattering several splinters of wood and paint. A moment of silence passed.
Eleven more holes appeared in the door.
John fell to the
ground, and Michael ripped the cable off. He went down on his hands and knees,
wheezing.
“Mike, you okay?
Is he dead?”
He didn't say
anything, and a burning line remained in his throat. He rose several seconds
later and unlocked the door. John was still moving, but a puddle of blood
seeped across the laminate floor beneath him.
Michael grabbed
the front of his shirt and lifted him up an inch. “Start talking, or I'm going
to spill your guts.”
“I think he's
doing that anyway. Come on, you're not going to get anything out of him,”
Richard said.
John stopped
breathing, and Michael let the corpse drop.
“Who was he,
anyway? I saw him through the first hole I put in the door. He didn't even
flinch. A passive-aggressive, pasty-faced guy with glasses; I'd buy him as a
serial rapist, but that? That was pretty extreme.”
“Let's find
out,” Michael said, taking the paper from the desk. “We'll need to get Harris
to check these numbers out. They were the only thing he hadn't disposed of
yet.”
“Stinks like
hell in here. He must have been burning this stuff all day.”
Michael stopped
in the doorway and looked back at the corpse. “Hey, thanks. I mean it, I was
dead; he had me.”
Richard shrugged
with the slightest of smiles. “Don't worry about it. I know everyone is always
talking rubbish behind my back, but I get something right every now and then.
That was the first time I've ever killed anyone.”
“How do you
feel?”
“Excited, tense.
I used just work up briefings for the fire teams, and I never went out on
patrol. They needed somebody to work detective enquiries, but people with
combat experience on the streets were too valuable to be used on that stuff, so
they got me instead.”
They went into
the bedroom, ripping open drawers and cabinets, tossing piles of clothes onto
the floor. Richard drummed his fingers on something hard at the bottom of a
drawer. “I've got a briefcase.”
He flipped two
latches and opened it. “Check it out, he was a ninja.”
“What?”
“I'm not joking.
He has fucking ninja stars. Look,” Richard said. He held up a stainless steel
star with four razor points. “What's the point? Do they even teach people to
use these any more? You can't shoot through a door with a ninja star.”
“They're called
shuriken. Find anything else?”
Richard
pretended to throw the shuriken at the wall, and then hissed. The shuriken fell
from his grasp and embedded itself in the floor with a thump. “Ah, I cut my
finger.”
“I've got three
passports and two memory sticks hidden in a compartment here. What do you think
the odds are that he moonlights as something other than a lobbyist?”
Richard sucked
the blood from his finger. He grimaced. “I think this whole case just keeps on
getting dodgier. He covered himself pretty good, though. There's sod all in
here to go on. Those memory sticks are probably encrypted, and those phone
numbers and
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