Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

PRESENT DAY: MONDAY EVENING

I f Needles believed no one had followed him to Jim's garage, he'd been very much mistaken. Several people on the Ludbrook Grove estate were sick of Needles and his trail bike but were too frightened to report him. The Vigilante wasn't afraid, and late Monday night, he took things into his own hands.

It took just a few minutes to break the lock on Joe Carter's garage door. The Vigilante studied the bike admiringly. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship. He was not into bikes much, but he knew a good one when he saw it. He appreciated good things, not like those idiots, he thought angrily.

All they had to do was abide by the law and silence the exhaust, but did they care about others? No, they didn't, and what were the police doing? Nothing, that's what. Everyone had had enough, and someone had to do something, so why not him? It wasn't right that young lads could terrorise decent, law-abiding citizens.

The law was too soft these days. Riffraff, that's what they were, living in social housing, lazing around, and claiming benefits on everyone else's hard-earned taxes. It was a bloody disgrace, and it had to stop. They had to be stopped. People who don't abide by the law should be taught a lesson. The police need to be firm like they are in America. They wouldn't put up with this crap there.

The bike was so beautiful, too. It seemed such a shame. All it needed was some care and a silencer, but no, they had to ride it through the village, risking lives and annoying nice, decent people. There were places for trail bike riding.

Well, it was too late, and it was their fault. He lifted the hammer he'd brought and began smashing it down onto the trail bike with as much force as possible.

Then, with each lift of the hammer, his rage grew stronger. Pain shot through his hand with each blow, but it was pleasurable. He was doing good. Bits of metal flew around the garage like silver confetti.

He ignored the pain when slivers of metal cut through his glove. He didn't care. He felt exhilarated and powerful. He was putting everything to rights, and it felt good. The hiss from the punctured tyres was music to his ears.

Jim Carter, who the garage belonged to, had dozed off while watching a drama series on television and woke to a banging noise. He turned down the volume on the TV and strained his ears. It was coming from outside.

Fear gripped him, and he started to shake. They were trying to break in. Someone, probably the Nazis, was trying to get into his house.

He should phone someone, but who? He scrambled through the old sideboard drawer until he found his old address book. Written in bold letters on the front page, was, ‘In times of trouble, phone the station,' followed by a phone number.

The station , he thought. Yes, the station should be called and warned. The station would know what to do.

‘Jim Carter here,' he said when DC Luke Carpenter answered the phone.

‘Everything all right, Jim?'

‘They're smashing things up. I can hear them.'

‘Who are?'

‘It must be the Nazis.'

‘Smashing things up where, Jim?'

‘I don't know. Outside, I think.'

Luke was about to appease him when his ears picked up the sound of crashing in the background. ‘All right, Jim. I'll be there in a few minutes.'

Needles was about to pull his bedroom curtains when he saw the strange figure outside Jim's house. It was well past twelve. Who'd be knocking at Jim's at this hour? He grabbed the cricket bat he kept under the bed and pulled on his hoodie before walking over to Jim's house, where he saw the man knocking on the door.

‘Jim, it's DC Luke Carpenter. You called the station. Can you open the door for me?'

The detective peered through the window into the living room. The television was on, so Jim had to be in there. ‘Jim, can you open the door?'

‘What are you doing?'

Carpenter swung around and came face to face with Needles and his cricket bat.

‘Police! What are you planning on doing with that cricket bat?'

‘He ain't done nothing wrong,' said Needles. ‘Why are you bothering 'im? He's got Alzheimer's. He'll be scared.'

‘Go home, son, and back to bed where you should be,' said Carpenter.

‘I ain't going nowhere. Jim's not well.'

‘Would you put the bat down, please?'

Needles dropped the bat.

‘Who are you?' asked Luke.

‘I live a few doors down.'

‘That tells me nothing. What's your name, son?'

‘Colin Lees,' Needles said reluctantly.

‘Mr Carter called us. He said he heard something. He sounded frightened.'

Needles narrowed his eyes. ‘Show me your ID.'

The detective nodded and held it up.

Needles stretched his arm to the porch's roof and took down a key. ‘I'll go in first,' he said. ‘He knows me.' He opened the door and called softly, ‘Jim? It's me. Everything's okay, mate.'

They both peered into the living room, where a silent TV was playing. Needles left the room and went to the cupboard under the stairs. There, he found Jim, crouched in the corner.

‘They'd told me to go here whenever the Nazis came. I haven't heard any more bombing or crashing. Have they gone? They were knocking on the door,' the elderly man said, wrapping his arms around his quivering body

‘They've gone now, Jim. I got rid of the bastards. You can come out. I'll make us a nice cuppa, shall I?'

Luke looked on in amazement as Jim Carter crawled from the cupboard, his face dripping with sweat and his eyes red from crying.

‘Needles?' Jim asked, clutching at the skinhead.

‘Yeah, it's me, mate. Did you call the old bill?'

‘Have they gone?' Jim asked.

‘Yeah, let me help you up. There's no need to crawl. There ain't any bombs, not now.'

Jim saw Luke and went to make for the cupboard again.

‘It's all right,' said Needles, holding on to him. ‘He helped get rid of them. Let's have a nice cuppa.'

Jim nodded, allowing Needles to lead him to the living room. Luke was struck by the older man's extraordinary relationship with this shaven-headed man.

‘Did you hear some noises tonight?' Needles asked Jim, whose eyes were now on the TV.

‘You called the police about noises you heard,' prompted Luke.

Jim's forehead creased in concentration. ‘Oh, the Nazis were crashing around outside like they were breaking something.'

‘Can I check your garden and garage, Mr Carter?'

Jim looked confused. ‘I don't have a garage.'

‘He doesn't remember he has a garage,' said Needles. ‘He keeps nothing in there.'

‘The banging was close. I could hear it over the phone.'

Needles jumped up. ‘He's got nothing in the garage anyone would want.'

‘I'll check all the same. Do you know where he keeps the garage key?'

‘No idea,' lied Needles, following the police officer to the garage.

‘Does he have help come in?' Luke asked as they walked.

‘No. No one gives a fuck about 'im, not his sister nor his wanker of a son.'

‘Social services should be informed.'

‘They're rubbish,' said Needles, his lips tightening in anger. ‘He never uses the garage. It's a waste of your time.'

Luke shone his torch on the garage door. ‘Is this the one?' It was numbered 38, like Jim's house.

Before Needles could lie and say it wasn't, Luke had shone his torch on the lock, and Needles gasped when he saw it had been forced.

‘Looks like someone has been in here,' said Luke.

Needles dived in front of him and lifted the door. He clicked on the light switch and blinked several times, unable to believe his eyes. Chunks of twisted metal lay everywhere, and the sickening smell of spilt petrol and sweat hung over the air like a toxic cloud. Needles slowly became aware of what he was looking at, and it felt like his breathing was suspended for a second. He leant down to pick up a piece of metal.

‘Leave it, son,' said Luke. ‘Do you have any idea who this bike belonged to?'

Needles was staring at the slashed tyres. ‘No,' he said. ‘But they're sure going to be upset.'

He spotted something by the side of the tyre. He couldn't think what it was. Did he drop it? Or did it belong to whoever had smashed his bike? Needles told himself he'd return for it later, but then Luke spotted it too. He knelt and studied it before carefully picking it up with a plastic bag. Needles then saw it was a postcard. Luke read aloud the words on it.

‘When the law fails to serve us, we must serve as the law. The Vigilante.'

Needles thought he would explode. That fucking vigilante must have followed him. That's how he knew where the bike was. He must have watched him take it out. He fantasised about the violent retaliation he'd take when he found the bastard.

‘Are you sure you don't know who this bike belongs to?' asked Luke.

Needles shook his head. ‘Nah.'

They went back into the house, where Luke tried again to question Jim, but he had no idea about a bike or a garage. It seemed he now couldn't remember anything about that evening.

Luke turned back to the young lad who had now ensconced himself on the couch next to Jim. They were both staring at the drama on the TV screen.

‘If you hear anything again, Colin, call the station,' he said.

‘Sure,' replied Needles.

‘I'll forget I saw that bat, but should I ever see you with it again, I'll arrest you. Do you understand?'

Needles shrugged. ‘Whatever.'

Luke hesitated.

‘You won't get a statement out of him,' said Needles. ‘If that's what you're waiting for.'

Luke nodded and quietly let himself out. Needles heard the door close, and his mind drifted from the television to The Vigilante. Who the fuck was he?