Retribution by Michael Bates (read more books .TXT) 📕

opening, and pushed down on the plunger, I watched as the fluid slowly made its way down the tube and into his arm. I removed the syringe, replaced the cap, and left the room.

It would take a matter of seconds for the potassium chloride to do its job, and with this guy being in his seventies, they would almost certainly suspect a heart attack. I got back into the service lift and down to the loading bay. I quickly placed the white coat back into the bag, and moved briskly out to the car park. As I climbed into my car, I could hear sirens in the distance, getting closer with every second. I started the car and drove slowly out of the car park and onto the main road. As I moved down the road, I could see the flashing lights of what I hoped was just an ambulance in my rear-view mirror.

******

A week later, I received a phone call from my father telling me my ex wife Julie had died in a car crash, and my daughter Claire placed into foster care. He was too ill to take her in himself. Although I really enjoyed my work, and it did pay well, I instantly made the decision to give it up and take on my responsibilities as a father. Julie and I split up five years ago, she was fed up with me being away all the time, and felt I had become emotionally detached; she was right of course. Finally, I found out she was having an affair, I couldn't blame her really, I hadn't thought of her in a sexual way for some time, but more a readymade mother to our daughter.

I sat for a moment pondering the situation. I suppose the correct thing would be to take on my responsibilities as a father. Although I would be a hypocrite to even call myself a father. I would all most certainly have to give up my profession, and I am not sure I’m ready for that yet. I mean, this business had been very good to me, especially financially. Still I did have more than enough money to live a very comfortable life, even with Clair, and I always knew it would all have to come to end eventually. I suppose now was as good a time as ever.
The other problem was, I didn’t know if I even had the temperament or the skills to raise a ten year old daughter. On the other hand, I had no idea if she would want anything to do with me. However, the moral side of me and yes despite my profession I did still have some morals, tells me it’s the right thing to do. Oh to hell with it. I thought.
I sent a coded message over the internet, informing all my clients of my immediate retirement. This was going to piss off a lot of people, but they would just have to live with it. I began gathering all my assets, moving my money from the many banks abroad, and placing it into one off shore account. I sold all my stocks and shares; trying everything possible to distance myself from the seedy world, I was once part of. If I was going to be a proper father, the last thing I wanted was for this shit to come back and haunt me in a few years time, and more importantly, put my daughter's life at risk. I started preparing to collect my daughter from the authorities. I wanted to move from London into the country, this would make it harder for my old life to catch up with me. I chose a small village the other side of the country, on the coast of Cornwall. I looked into the best schools for my daughter and bought a modest sized house, there was no need for the local people to know how well off I am. This would only invite awkward questions later on.

******

The feeling of apprehension was alien to me. With all the jobs I had done in the past, I had never felt scared, nervous, or remorseful. Now on the eve of meeting my daughter I was feeling all of these. I left my room on my way to the care centre. Just as I entered the lift I heard the phone in my room ringing. I was just about to go and answer it when the lift door slid shut, forget it. I thought. As I arrived at the care centre, I could see two police cars in the car park; I got out of the taxi and asked the driver to wait for me. The building was very overbearing, Elizabethan looking, on three floors and painted white with black beams criss-crossing the frontage. At the entrance there was an intercom. I pressed the button.
“Hello how can I help you?” said a voice from within.

"I'm here to pick up my daughter."
"What is her name?"
"It's Claire; Claire Spader."
“You better come in,” she said.
I entered the building and went to the front desk. A middle-aged woman behind the desk and a young policewoman with a note book in her hand were both stood there staring at me

"Did you say you’re here for Claire Spader?" said the policewoman.

"Yes that's right, why, what's wrong?"

"I think you better follow me sir." That look on her face, I knew it. It was the look everyone makes when they are about to dish out bad news.

I followed her into a waiting room, where there was another police officer questioning a woman. The policewoman went over and whispered into the officers ear. He turned and looked at me. "Can you finish up here please constable," he said, then stood up and walked over to me.

"Can you take a seat and tell me your name please sir?"
I sat down. "My name is Jack Spader."

"Hello Mr. Spader, I am Inspector Evans of the Metropolitan police force. I'm afraid your daughter appears to have gone missing. We tried to phone you earlier but got no answer."

"Yes, the phone rang just as I left my hotel room. What do you mean gone missing, has she run away or what?"

"We are not sure at this moment in time; we are still questioning everyone who was in contact with her. Can you tell me please when you last spoke to your daughter?"

"I can't be specific, it's been a number of years. I have been dealing directly with the authorities, and was supposed to be collecting my daughter today to start a new life together, as her mother just died."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Well for the moment there isn't a lot you can do here, so what I need you to do now Mr. Spader is go back to your hotel room and wait; I promise we will be in touch once there are any new developments."

"And just how long do you expect me to sit around in my hotel room doing nothing?"

"I know it's hard, but there is the chance that your daughter may try to get in touch with you. That is why for the moment we need you to stay put, and I don't need to tell you that if you are contacted, you must get in touch with us right away." He held out his hand. "Here's my card, don't hesitate to call me day or night."

I took the card. "Now I suggest you go back to your hotel, and as I said we’ll be in touch.”

He stood up and walked over to the policewoman. I sat in a state of shock, thinking I have never felt so helpless and useless as I do now. I stood up and as if in a trance, found myself sitting in a taxi being driven through the busy streets of London, but hearing no sound at all.

On returning to my hotel room, I removed my jacket and lay back on the bed. I tried to conjure up images of Claire, only to find I held no memory of how her face looked. Jesus! What kind of father am I? I can't even remember what my own daughter looks like. I thought. I tried so hard to remember that I fell asleep, and woke up in the dark. I turned on the bedside lamp, sat up and was about to open a bottle of whisky when I saw an envelope that had been pushed under the door. I picked it up, typed on the front was my name, and inside was a note saying. If you want to see your daughter alive again, do not call the police. We will be in touch within the next twenty-four hours. I suggest you do not leave your room, as we will only call you once, there will be no second chances.


CHAPTER TWO

I sat on the bed looking at the note, trying to think who could be doing this. It had to be someone who had no intensions of allowing me to retire. But how in the hell did they know who I was and where I lived? I began racking my brains to come up with some kind of answer; the one thing I felt sure of was, it had to be one of my old clients, but which one?

The problem was, I'd never actually met any of my clients, part of the way we work was to ensure there was never any physical contact between the client and me. All correspondence was by coded messages over the internet. For the moment, all I could do was sit and wait for them to make the next move. The one thing I was sure of was not involving the police. Going off experience, the police always mean well, but getting them involved is like letting a bull lose in a china shop. They just don't have any idea how to handle these kind of people. The last thing the kidnappers were scared of was the police, the only thing these people understood was violence, the one thing I was very good at, and if I got the chance, I'd exact violence like these fuckers had never seen before.
No, I needed to handle this thing myself if I was going to expect any ounce of success. For the time being my hands were tied until these fuckers got in touch with me, and then hopefully I would have something to go on.

This was the first time I'd ever began to regret ever getting into this whole sordid business, up until now it had treated me well, especially financially. It was all beginning to fit into place; why I spent these last few years emotionally detached from all that should in any normal world, have really held some meaning to me. You just can't let feelings of this nature interfere, or you just can't function properly. At least that's how I used to think, however, now I was beginning to think that all that's just bullshit, something I picked up from some crazy action movie. Who in the hell did I think I was, Rambo or something? I felt like slapping myself in the face to try to bring myself back to reality.

For fuck sake, when are they going to call? This suspense is driving me up the wall, I felt like I was going to explode. I've lost