FIC: Necessary Evil 2b/2

[elfbert]

Part 2a is here

And part 2b...

Ray sat on the wall at the back of the garden, his back to the house. He watched the colours of the sunset flare and fade as the light played on the clouds, taking long drags on his cigarette.

“You think it’ll be okay?” Marty, who was sitting next to him, suddenly asked.

“Wha’?” Ray grunted. He’d wanted to spend a bit of time alone, but when Marty had followed him outside he hadn’t the heart to tell him to piss off.

“The job. I mean…there’s going to be a lot of people there. And police.”

Ray shrugged. “All be watching the match, won’t they? Ain’t gonna notice us.”

Marty swung his legs, staring down at the grass.

“I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to go back to prison.”

Ray looked across at him. “Then don’t. Leave.”

Marty shook his head. “Can’t. Even if Charlie’d let me, what else would I do?”

Ray shrugged. “Bright enough boy, ain’t you? You’d find summat. An’ Charlie can’t stop you.”

“You don’t know Charlie,” Marty muttered.

“Know people like him. He ain’t special y’know. He just relies on no one standin’ up to him. What’d he do if you left? What could he do?”

“You didn’t see what he had Billy do to Doug. He didn’t just stab him he…it took him a long time, to die.”

Ray flicked his dog end away. “Make summat up on Saturday then, say you’re sick or summat. When he’s gone, just leave.”

Marty shook his head.

“’S like you said, what if you go back inside? Is it worth it?” Ray pushed, knowing that it was the inevitable result if Marty did join in with the robbery.

“We won’t, though. It’ll be all right. Charlie’s got it all planned.”

Ray wished he could say something, save Marty from his family. He generally believed that a leopard didn’t change it’s spots, but he had the feeling that Marty had only ever gone along with his criminal family because he’d been given no choice.

There was a long silence, and Ray lit up another cigarette, offering one to Marty.

“You scared?” Marty finally asked.

Ray shrugged. “Bit, maybe.”

“Because if they catch us, with you shooting that policeman, you’ll get…years and years.”

“They don’t know it were me,” Ray answered, trying to sound confident.

“Charlie’d tell them, if it got him off. He’s like that.”

The blunt honesty surprised Ray. “They still couldn’t prove it.”

“You been inside much before?” Marty asked.

“In an’ out all me life,” Ray answered, trying to be vague.

“And you wouldn’t mind…going back again?”

“I ain’t like you, you’re young enough to get out an’ still make summat of your life,” Ray answered. “Get to my age an’ there’s no one’d ‘ave me. Not wi’ my record.”

Marty nodded slowly.

Ray walked to the kitchen. He knew it was silly, but he was scared of making the phonecall, just in case something went wrong. Would Charlie be able to tell that he wasn’t genuine? Would he say something to give them away? He dug his nails into his palms and tried to ignore the slick sweat that coated his palms.

Charlie nodded to the phone that had been placed on the table.

“Call your mate then, see what’s sorted.”

Ray nodded, feeling in his pocket for the scrap of paper. He sat down and smoothed it out, focussing on the number as he reached for the telephone. The dial seemed to take forever to slide back round each time he put a number in. He waited as it rang, holding his breath.

“DI Sam Tyler,” the answer came.

“’S Ray,” he answered, sounding odd to himself. “What ‘ave you sorted?”

“There’ll be someone there, waiting to let you in. Everything will be fine. We’ll have the area surrounded. Chris will be inside. You’ll never get out alive, any of you.”

Ray frowned, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He glanced up at Charlie and saw he had a telephone too, and a slow smile spreading across his face. He was listening in. Ray quickly looked away, wondering how on Earth he could salvage the situation. Then something else caught his eye. The piece of paper Sam had written the number on had the police badge on it, and ‘POLICE’ written across it as a header. Suddenly Billy crashed into the room, Chris held in front of him in a choke-hold, a gun pressed hard to his temple. Ray stood up and realised there was already a body on the floor - the familiar camel coat now dark with blood, dirty blond hair surrounded a ragged hole in the skull, the stark white bone and mushy brain tissue all mixed together with the bright blood.

He jumped awake, his heart beating wildly, eyes staring into the darkness. He was shaking, his breath coming in gasps. He swung his legs off the bed and grabbed his trousers from the floor, pulling out the paper Sam had given him and holding it up to the window. The pale moonlight showed it was a blank piece of paper, with just the handwritten number scrawled on it.

“You all right?” Marty asked sleepily.

Ray took a deep breath and hoped his voice wouldn’t betray him. “Yeah, fine. Cramp, ‘s all.”

Marty grunted and was soon breathing evenly, clearly asleep.

Ray sat with his head on his hands. He knew it was the stress of the situation that was to blame for the dream, and he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t some sort of bad omen, but it still felt like one.

He watched dawn break out of the window. The front yard was full of cars again, Charlie having arrived back late the night before. There was a low mist over the fields, trees and hedges marking the boundaries, rising above the grey.

Ray rubbed his eyes and finally decided it was late enough to go downstairs. He pulled his jeans on and walked downstairs, shivering as he walked into the kitchen, wishing he’d put his jumper on. He set the kettle on the gas stove and leant back on the counter, wondering how he could go about such normal activities when he was in such a precarious position. But he also knew he didn’t have a choice, he had to make the best of his situation.

He pulled his cigarettes out and lit one, wondering if he should take Marty a cuppa. Then he decided that was ridiculous - he was about to engineer the kid staying in prison for a large part of his life.

When Charlie told him to make the phonecall Ray was relieved that nothing played out as it had in his nightmare. He stood in the hallway, waiting for the phone to be answered.

“Yeah.”

Ray recognised Gene’s voice and almost breathed a sigh of relief.

“What ‘ave you sorted?” he asked.

“Be at the entrance to the north side at 7am, after that people start arriving. We can get you in to the boiler rooms, get you the key so you lot can lock yourselves in. Watch yourselves, cos there’ll be other people around, right?”

Ray hoped that by ‘other people’ Gene meant that he’d managed to work out ways of getting more of the squad inside.

“Yeah, good. Hang on, I’ll ask,” he said, hoping that this would be good enough signal that no one was listening in and Gene could talk freely. He called out to Charlie. “Know ‘ow many people it’ll be?”

Charlie shrugged. “Seven, eight.”

“Seven or eight,” Ray said down the phone.

“No one’s listening?” Gene asked, in hushed tones, as if that would help.

“’S right, yeah,” Ray answered.

“Everything okay?” Gene asked.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else we need to know?”

“Not really, nah,” Ray said vaguely.

“When it all kicks off you need to keep your head down,” Gene warned. “I don’t like it, but if we end up fightin’ this out in the corridors then it’ll get very messy.”

“Yeah, see you then,” Ray answered. He hung up the phone and turned to Charlie. “Seven a.m., north side, he can get us in an’ give us a key to the boiler room. It’ll be a long wait, but we’ll be in, safe, sittin’ pretty.”

Charlie nodded, a smile spreading across his face.

“After this, we split, each with our share of the money. Let things cool. I’ll call everyone back together when I’ve planned the next one.”

The various members who were sitting around nodded, and Ray guessed that this was how they normally worked.

He looked across to Marty, who was standing with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.

It turned out that Charlie’s day-trip had been spent sorting out new weapons. No one would carry a shotgun this time - everyone was given a pistol and some bullets.

“Can we practise?” Danny asked, almost bouncing at the thought.

Charlie shrugged. “Don’t waste too much ammo, but there’s no one ‘round for miles, you can do what you want.”

Billy immediately showed interest in doing some target practise, and Eddie nudged Ray. “Coming?” he asked.

Ray was about to refuse when he decided that he probably should go out, just to see if any of the gang could aim straight - and if any could, he’d be on his guard on Saturday.

They set up targets of old bits of brick and bottles on the wall, then Danny stood, squinting down the barrel of the pistol. He fired, and on the third shot a bottle smashed, exploding glass everywhere. Ray resisted the urge to shake his head. The kid had a static target and still couldn’t hit it. He felt a little better about the prospect of a gun fight.

Early on Saturday they all got up and readied themselves. It was still dark outside, and everyone was quieter than usual.

Marty checked his gun and slid it into his waistband, pulling his jumper down over it. Ray slid his own gun into his belt at the back. Two transit vans sat outside the house, ready to ferry both the men and the money.

“Ready?” Ray asked.

Marty nodded, then led the way downstairs.

“It ain’t too late, y’know,” Ray said, quietly.

“Was too late the moment I was born into this family,” Marty replied.

When they reached the stadium Ray immediately saw Gene outside, leaning by a doorway, smoking. He led the way toward him, shaking his hand briefly.

“All set?” Gene asked, glad to see that Ray was still in one piece.

Ray nodded. “Show us.”

Gene stamped out his cigarette and looked around, as if checking the coast was clear. “C’mon.”

He led them inside, through the bare grey corridors. “When do I get my cut then?” he asked gruffly.

Ray turned to Charlie, who patted his pocket.

“Soon as we’re in an’ got the keys, you’ll get yours,” he assured.

Gene led the way to a door marked ‘North Boiler’ and twisted the key in the lock. He turned and pointed down the corridor. “Cash office is down there, second on the left. It’s got a sign on the door.”

Charlie nodded. “Just like the plans.”

Gene opened the door to the boiler room and nodded inside. “There you are. Ain’t comfy, but it’ll be worth it.”

Ray stood back, watching the others enter the small stuffy room. He wondered if he might be able to have a few quiet words with Gene, but Charlie also stayed behind and once everyone else had gone he pulled out his pistol, thrusting it under Gene’s chin. “You just remember, anyone hears about this, and it’s you I’m coming after.”

Ray prayed that Gene would keep his cool - he knew that threats didn’t go down well with the DCI.

Gene just looked at Charlie with a scornful expression. “Jus’ gimme my cut, an’ I’ll forget I ever saw you.”

Charlie shoved a roll of notes into Gene’s hands, then pushed him away.

Ray tried to catch his eye and Gene just nodded once, then winked.

The room was small and hot and the men soon began to suffer in their jumpers. Ray watched as one by one they gave in to the heat and stripped their jumpers off, leaning back against the concrete walls for the cool they offered. Ray gave in too, pulling his own jumper off. He glanced at his watch and sighed. There were still hours to go. He could see the shadows of people moving about on the other side of the door now though. He looked across to Marty, who was staring at the floor, his arms wrapped around his knees. Ray stood and walked across to him, sitting next to him. He nudged Marty’s knee.

“All right?”

Marty shrugged.

“Jus’ keep yer head down, right?” Ray said quietly, well aware that everyone in the room could hear what he was saying.

Marty nodded, looking miserable.

The hours dragged by. As the level of activity outside increased and the kick off drew nearer most people in the room began to ready themselves, standing up and working out any aches they’d got from staying still for so long, checking their weapons, making sure they knew where their spare ammo was. Ray couldn’t help but do the same. He hated to admit it, but he was nervous too. When it all started to go down he knew he’d be caught in the middle, and after the last time he was terrified of what he might do.

Finally the activity outside died down, and looking at his watch Ray guessed that the turnstiles had opened and the stadium above them was filling up. He wondered where the rest of the squad were.

“Boss - I’m fine! I can…” Chris trailed off, not able to think of anything he could do right at that moment.

“The doc’s said you could do desk work, Skelton,” Gene said. “Not run around a fuckin’ stadium.”

“I could stay outside - in a car, with the radio. Or…anyway, I’m fine now, it ‘ardly hurts or nothin’.”

“Chris, we really shouldn’t risk you being hurt again,” Sam tried to sound friendly, unlike Gene’s barking orders.

“I ain’t stayin’ here though - I’ve gotta be there.”

Gene sighed and finally gave in, knowing that neither he or Sam would be any better if they were in a similar situation.

“Fine, come and stay in the car,” he said grumpily. “Keep an eye on what’s goin’ on outside.”

Chris nodded, knowing that once he was there it probably wouldn’t be too hard to get inside where he really wanted to be. It wasn’t that he wanted to get involved in the fighting or the gunplay, he just needed to know that Ray was there, and this time, whatever happened, that Ray wouldn’t go back with the gang.

Charlie opened the door a crack and turned the light off in the room, watching and waiting. He saw the first stewards heading down the corridor, all carrying the metal cash boxes from the turnstiles. He allowed a smile to creep over his lips. Now they just had to wait, biding their time until all the cash was in.

Ray checked that his spare bullets were easily accessible, his pistol heavy in his palm. He took deep breaths, forcing himself to stay calm. Any minute now he knew they’d be moving. He hoped that the Guv was ready.

Chris smiled at the latest steward to hand over his cash box. It had been ridiculously easy to get into the office once Gene had given the staff their briefing. They were all on edge, obviously, but he had reassured them that he was there to protect them. Even Bob, who had thought that he’d be in there as the only copper, had been easy to convince, when Chris had told him that the Guv thought there should be two of them. Chris knew they weren’t to try anything - they were just there as a steadying influence on the real staff. All they had to do was hand over the money, the collar would happen outside in the corridors. But it meant he was there - not stuck in the car or back at the station, listening to events unfold on the radio.

“Ready?” Charlie said quietly.

Ray pulled his balaclava down over his face, the wool stiflingly hot in the room. He knew everyone else had done the same. Charlie had obviously counted the boxes in and was satisfied that all the money was now in the small cash office.

Charlie watched as the stewards left again, empty handed, and opened the door. The seven of them sneaked down the corridor, guns raised.

Chris jumped as the door was slammed open and men clad in black from head to toe spilled into the room. He backed away and heard small screams and sobs from two of the women. He glanced over at Bob, who was doing the same as he was, backing up, hands raised.

“What…what do you want?” Chris stammered, the fear running through him at the sight of the guns was surprising, even to him, but it brought it all back, seeing the muzzle of Ray’s gun twitch as the pain had blossomed through him.

He tried to pick out which one was Ray and identified him easily, the strong shoulders and the way he stood as he pointed his gun into the room.

“The money - notes first, do it and nobody gets hurt.”

Chris nodded, taking the bag that was thrown at him. He held it out and nodded to the cashiers who obediently began pulling the wads of pound notes out of the boxes and shoving them in the bag with shaking hands. Bob had another bag and was doing the same, meaning that the money was quickly handed over.

“Now the coins, not the coppers,” Charlie said, gesturing to different bags.

The staff dug into the small trays, pulling out fistfuls of silver coins. Chris was impressed by how calm they were, even if some of them were crying. He knew they’d be fine though, and they’d been told not to try anything on.

Ray quickly moved around the room, ripping the telephone cords from the wall. He’d had the shock of his life when he’d seen Chris standing in the office, staring down the barrel of Charlie’s gun like a rabbit caught in headlights. He couldn’t believe that the Guv or the Boss had allowed Chris to be a part of the job.

“Come on,” Charlie glanced around, checking that everyone was doing as they should. Marty pushed the key to the room into Charlie’s free hand as they began backing out of the small room. “No one be a hero, right?” he said as he shut the door and locked it.

Chris turned to the women and men who were still shaking. “Well done,” he said softly. “That’s it, now we just stay ‘ere, let ‘em be picked up.”

Ray tried to make sure he was at the back of the group as they walked quickly up the corridor. He had a heavy bag of coins over one shoulder, his gun still clutched in his hand. His heart was racing, but he was glad that Chris was now safe, his part of the job done.

They rounded a corner and there was a shout. Ray knew this was it. He tried to see what was going on, but the corridor was small and they were too crowded in it.

“Put your guns down!” Gene’s voice was easily recognisable. “You’re surrounded, give it up.”

The crack of a pistol, loud in the bare corridor, told Ray everything he need to know. He dropped the bag he was carrying and backed up, gun raised. Charlie did the same, and Ray wished he’d stay with the group, where Ray could cover him. Then Marty burst out of the group too. The panic on his face was clear. A bullet bit a chunk of concrete from above the group and whined away as it ricocheted and Ray cursed, when faced with such impossible odds, why wouldn’t they give up.

“Ray!” Marty shouted, heading for him.

Ray grabbed Marty’s arm and shoved him back down the corridor, then he turned his gun on Charlie. “Put down the gun,” he commanded, praying that Gene had them surrounded and that there would be more people on his side of the fight at any moment.

Charlie stared, then began to bring his gun up, “You bastard!” he screamed.

Ray launched himself, slamming into Charlie’s body, crushing him back against the wall. He knew that any shooting was made more dangerous by their surroundings.

“You fucking traitor,” Charlie hissed, all the air having been knocked out of him.

Ray kneed him in the bollocks and smashed the butt of his gun down into Charlie’s face, leaving him sliding to the floor. As he bent down to pick up the other man’s gun he saw the look on Marty’s face.

“You?” Marty mouthed.

“Jus’ stay down, give yerself up,” Ray said urgently. “You’ll be all right.”

A shout from behind him made Ray spin around, bringing both guns up. He saw Danny aiming at him, and he knew he had nowhere to hide. The sounds of the fight at the other end of the corridor suggested that there was going to be no one coming to help him anytime soon either.

The gun barked, but Ray didn’t feel any pain. A shout from behind him made him turn though and he saw Marty drop to his knees.

“Fuckin’ traitor, Marty, how could you…you’re family,” Danny screamed. “You betrayed us.”

Ray stared, then realised that Danny had assumed Marty was working with him, and was somehow involved. He loosed off a shot, barely waiting long enough to see Danny jerk as he was hit. Then he skidded to his knees beside Marty, seeing that there was blood pumping out of the younger man.

He looked around for anything to stop the bleeding, but the corridor offered nothing. He dropped his weapons and struggled out of his balaclava and jumper, pushing hard against the wound.

“Jesus, Marty, you’ll be okay, you’ll be okay,” he whispered, the sounds of the ongoing battle.

Marty stared up at him, his eyes glistening with tears. “Ray? It…you…”

“Don’t talk, just ‘ang on,” Ray said.

“You’re…a…copper?” Marty said, reaching up and grabbing Ray’s wrist. “An’…you didn’t tell me…you…this is ‘cause of…you…”

Ray opened his mouth to answer when something slammed into him, taking his breath away and knocking him sideways. He tried to see who had hit him, but there was no one close by.

“I tried to warn you,” he whispered, still clutching the bloodied jumper. He knew that to have a chance of saving Marty he’d have to get away from the fighting. His guns forgotten he grabbed Marty by his collar and his belt and began dragging him away, on his hands and knees. Then something else hit him and he fell forward, this time there was someone though, rough blows smacking him around the head.

He fought back, but he could feel that his movements were unco-ordinated, as were his attackers. They ended up just rolling about the floor, neither doing much damage. Ray just trying to shove the man off himself so he could get back to Marty.

Chris grabbed the spare key from the chief cashier and fumbled it into the lock as the sound of gunfire echoed along the corridors.

“You all stay ‘ere, don’t move,” he said forcefully, not that it looked as if any of the staff wanted to go anywhere.

Bob led the way, and Chris was glad. There was more shouting now and fewer gunshots, but Chris and Bob both had their weapons drawn as they rounded the corner.

Gene slammed someone’s head into the wall, dropping him as he became a dead weight. With his next step he kicked someone hard in the knee, feeling something give as the man cried out in pain. Even Sam was getting stuck in, fists flying. They waded through the bodies, leaving the rest of the squad to pick up the damaged bodies they left in their wake.

Gene spotted two men fighting on the floor and identified one of them as Ray. The lino on the floor was awash with blood, huge smears of it up the wall where the men fought for leverage as they struggled. Next to them lay a body, unmoving.

Sam brought his weapon up as he saw shadows moving on the wall, but then Bob and Chris rounded the corner, also with their guns raised. The four men all let their relief show as they realised that the war was won.

Gene stepped forward, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him against the wall. He recognised him as Danny Jackson and threw him down to the ground, a grim smile as his head bounced off the floor.

Ray lay on his back, panting for breath. He knew he had to move, had to help, but he couldn’t find the energy. Pain was nagging at him through the numbness of his left thigh, and the world was beginning to wash in and out.

Chris fell to his knees next to Ray, then looked over to where Sam had his fingers pressed to Marty’s neck. Sam shook his head once, standing up, looking at the huge pool of blood that covered the floor.

Chris could feel the still-warm blood soaking through his trousers as he leant over Ray.

“Call an ambulance,” he heard Gene order somebody.

“Ray?” Chris put his hands on Ray’s chest, feeling the rise and fall as he breathed.

“’M okay,” Ray said, trying to sit up, his hand slipping on the floor.

“You’ve been shot,” Chris said softly. “Stay where you are.”

Sam looked around. Most people were being handcuffed and dragged away - weapons still littered the floor. Ray was covered in blood - his own, Danny’s and Marty’s. Danny was being tended to by two PCs, blood moving sluggishly out of the gunshot wound that Ray had inflicted.

Sam briefly wondered about the dangers that all the blood posed, even in these years before AIDS became the killer it was in his own time.

He watched as Chris shrugged his own jumper off and wrapped it around Ray’s thigh.

He shook his head slowly, and Gene saw the movement. “What?” he snapped, more harshly than he intended.

Sam looked up at him. “For a few grand, all this. Was it worth it?”

Gene grunted. “We got em. If they get sent down, it was worth it.”

“Really? Chris and Ray both shot, Marty dead, everyone here needing hospital attention?”

“Yeah? And how many innocent people would they ‘ave hurt if they’d kept goin’?” Gene argued.

“I’m not saying they didn’t need to be stopped, I’m saying we didn’t go about it in the right way,” Sam said.

“We went about it the only way we could,” Gene answered, turning away, signalling that the discussion was at an end.

“Where’s Marty?” Ray asked. “He’s a good kid, Chris, check he’s okay?”

Chris glanced at the body a few feet away.

“He…di’n’t make it,” he said quietly.

Ray shoved himself up to sitting, looking around as dizziness washed over him. His eyes rested on the body, the skin pale now, glassy eyes staring up at the ceiling.

“No…he…he was the only one…” Ray moved, dragging himself toward the body. “He can’t be fuckin’…he can’t.”

Chris felt tears filling his eyes and he didn’t know what he was more upset about - that Ray could be this concerned over another man, or that Ray was so unhappy.

He reached out to touch Ray, but his lover’s back was coated in thick blood - none of it his own, and Chris couldn’t bring himself to.

Chris pushed open the door to the flat, smelling the slight mustiness of a place that had been shut up for a couple of weeks. He walked into the living room and opened the window, not minding the cool spring air. He could hear the creak of Ray’s crutches behind him and turned.

“I should ha’ come back sooner,” he said. “Aired the place a bit. Jus’…Mum di’n’t want me bein’ on me own.”

Ray smiled. “’S all right.”

Chris stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Ray.

“’M so glad you’re back,” he said, his voice muffled.

Ray nodded. Billy and Marty were dead, three of the gang, including Danny, had been shot - he was injured, Chris was recovering.

Things could have been so much worse.

“Don’t ever do it again,” Chris said quietly.

Ray looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink away the moisture in his eyes. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t make promises to Chris that he knew he couldn’t keep.

~Fin