Dead Watch: a fast-paced thriller you don't want to miss Read online

  Dead Watch

  Steve Liszka

  Copyright © 2018 Steve Liszka

  The right of Steve Liszka to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  For my family

  Contents

  Part I

  The Bullshit Hour

  Wes Street

  RTC: Persons Trapped

  Phil Collins

  An Inspector Calls

  Jo

  Dylan

  Harrison

  Lenny

  Mac

  Persons Reported

  Tears Before Bedtime

  Part II

  A Debt Repaid

  Confession

  Rendezvous

  Wesley

  Jimmy

  Bodhi

  A Meeting with Management

  Return of the Mac

  Rendezvous

  Close to Home

  Ambush

  Panic at the Disco

  Truth or Dare

  Hang-ups

  Baby Daddy

  Decisions, Decisions

  A Debt Repaid

  Part III

  In the Dark

  Revelations

  Blood Brothers

  Mac

  Party Time

  Nick the Prick

  Mac Attack

  Raiders

  Carnage

  The Big Boss Man

  Wes

  Confessions

  Reconciliation

  Confrontation

  Building Well Alight

  All Aboard

  Scores to Settle

  Acknowledgments

  A Note from Bloodhound Books:

  Part I

  The Bullshit Hour

  ‘I still don’t see what your fucking problem is,’ the large, angry man said to the person seated next to him. He spoke without bothering to swallow the mouthful of egg sandwich he was chewing.

  ‘My problem, Len,’ Dylan said cheerfully, ‘is that you have an appalling grasp of the English language.’

  Lenny laughed, ‘My English is just fine sunshine.’

  ‘Really, then let’s go through your previous statement, shall we? You said that you were working on the door, and some geezer started kicking off with the other bouncers.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And then, you said that when he saw you, he literally shit himself, and when you told him to fuck off, he literally ran a mile.’

  Lenny nodded. ‘Yeah, ‘cos that’s what happened.’

  ‘No, it didn’t,’ Dylan said, ‘that’s my point. You made two factually incorrect statements in the course of one sentence.’

  Lenny looked to the other men sitting around the table who were silently listening to the argument. ‘Seriously, what the fuck is this prick talking about?’

  Dylan sighed. ‘It’s not your fault, Len, you have an incredibly small brain. That’s what happens when there’s too much incest in one family. Chromosomes go missing and shit like that.’

  ‘Really now,’ Lenny said with an air of menace to his voice. ‘I’m going to hurt you in a minute.’

  Dylan held his hands up in defence and smiled. ‘Kidding, silly. So, back to my point, did this guy actually poo himself? I mean, could you smell it?’

  ‘Nah, but he did look pretty shook up.’

  ‘Right, and did he really run a mile? I’m talking the full one thousand six hundred and whatever it is meters.’

  ‘No, but he did leg it down the road a bit.’

  Dylan clapped his hand together, ‘So, there we go. That’s not literal. Its figurative or maybe metaphorical, but definitely not literal.’

  Lenny looked at him blankly.

  ‘It’s like when someone says “I literally couldn’t get out of bed” or “It literally blew my mind.” Unless their head exploded, or they were chained to their bed, they don’t mean literally. That means it actually happened. Do you get what I’m saying?’

  ‘I guess so. But do you get what I’m saying when I tell you that I really don’t give a fuck?’ As Lenny spoke, some of his sandwich shot out of his mouth onto the table.

  Dylan looked hurt. ‘Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to teach you something, that’s all.’

  ‘Well I don’t want to learn. I’ve learnt enough, thank you very much.’

  Dylan shook his head in mock sadness. ‘You know, there’s nothing sadder than someone whose brain is closed to new things.’

  ‘How about someone who has to eat his dinner through a straw because his jaw is broken in three places?’ Lenny said. ‘That’s pretty sad.’

  ‘True,’ Dylan agreed. ‘But I really think you’re capable of working this one out.’

  ‘Ok then, clever bollocks. You literally are a piece of shit. How’s that?’

  ‘It’s wrong, is what it is. Metaphorically, I’m a piece of shit, but keep going.’

  Lenny rolled his eyes. ‘You’re acting like a dick.’

  ‘And that, my friend, is a simile. Try again.’

  Lenny paused before speaking, like he was testing out his next answer in his mind. ‘I’ve got it! Shut up or I literally am going to smack you in the face really, really fucking hard.’

  ‘Yes!’ Dylan punched the air. ‘He’s got it, by Jove.’

  Lenny stared at him, unimpressed. ‘I’m serious. Pipe down or I’m gonna knock your teeth down your throat.’

  The unknowing spectator would probably have been concerned for Dylan at this point. Lenny had a voice of gravel and a face that looked unprepared to deal with such taunting. At six-feet-three and eighteen stone, he was also built like the proverbial brick shit house. If he’d wanted to, he could have easily carried out his threat, and there would have been little Dylan could have done about it. Although not much smaller in height, Dylan was gangly and awkward looking. He resembled a pubescent seventeen-year-old and, despite being ten years older, was often mistaken for one.

  What the spectator wouldn’t know was that this goading was part of the routine they would go through at the start of every shift. This was what the bullshit hour was all about; a chance to catch up with friends and colleagues through idle gossip and taunting. In four days’ time, they’d be sick of the sight of each other, but it was Red Watch’s first morning back on duty, and they had plenty to catch up on.

  Wesley, the watch manager, glanced at the clock on the wall with unease. It was nearly ten-thirty in the morning, the official time that tea break was meant to begin. The problem for Wes was that the other members of the Watch had very different ideas regarding timekeeping to him. At change of shift, they had checked their breathing apparatus (BA) sets and after carrying out an inventory of the lorry, made their way straight to the mess table and had stayed put ever since. Even though they’d been sitting there for almost an hour, he knew he couldn’t get his crew to do any work until the official fifteen-minute break had finished.

  Wesley was still uncomfortable with the merciless piss-taking that went on at watch level. He was used to working in the off
ices of Fire Safety where such coarse language would not be tolerated. He’d been back on the lorries for nearly six months, but the vulgarities of the canteen table still shocked him.

  ‘Okay, so now we’ve cleared up that,’ he said, ‘I was thinking we could discuss our plans for the rest of the morning.’

  Lenny checked his watch. ‘It’s break time. We don’t talk shop at break time.’

  Wesley looked to Jimmy for support and was met with a shrug. Jimmy was the crew manager, which meant he was second in command, although everyone knew it was him who really ran the show. If he’d wanted to, Jimmy could have easily brought an end to the extended period of downtime the men had enjoyed. They’d moan about it, they always did, but they’d do as he asked. But Jimmy clearly didn’t feel the need to intervene; this was Wesley’s call.

  ‘All I was going to say,’ he went on, undeterred, ‘is that after tea break, I’d like you guys to get your fire-kit on so we can do a bit of drilling in the yard.’

  The five other men sitting at the table let out a groan; Wesley had mentioned the D-word.

  ‘We’ve got a Home Safety Visit booked in at half eleven,’ Bodhi said, not bothering to look up from his cup of coffee. ‘If we drill, we’re going to miss it.’

  Bodhi looked exactly like what he was; a surf bum. Straggly, sun-bleached hair down to his ears, the broad shoulders/tiny waist combo, and the most laid-back demeanour you could find all helped create his image. Not that it was something he had to work on; Bodhi was a natural waterman. If you cut him, salt water would seep out. His real name wasn’t Bodhi, of course, only people in films get cool names like that, and the person in question was Patrick Swayze’s surfer guru and part-time bank thief in Point Break. Knowing no real-life surfers, the Watch had little choice when selecting his nickname. Even though he had moaned about it at the time, he secretly liked it, and it was far more interesting than Mark Godwin, his real moniker.

  ‘Then can you do me favour and cancel it please,’ Wesley said. ‘I’d like to show the Dep just how good you guys are when he comes in later.’

  Lenny laughed. ‘You mean you want us to dance for the fucker.’

  Wesley’s face reddened. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You know exactly what it means, and if you think we’re playing that game, you’ve got another thing coming. We’re not performing chimps.’

  ‘He’s coming to tell us he’s closing our fire station,’ Dylan said. ‘Why do you want to roll the red carpet out for him?’

  ‘It’s not him that’s closing the station,’ Wesley tried to remind them. ‘You can blame the government for that.’

  Jimmy looked across to his boss. ‘I didn’t see him standing outside with us getting the public to sign our petition, did you, Wes?’

  ‘Yeah, well, we’ve all got jobs to do.’

  Lenny stuffed the remains of the sandwich into his mouth. ‘And mine’s not putting on a show for that fucker.’

  Harrison Ford, the only person yet to speak, put down the document he was reading and took off his glasses. He rubbed at his eyes like the words had caused them discomfort. He was a slight man with grey, almost white hair. His real name was Pete Ford, but he had joined the fire service in the eighties when the original Star Wars films were at their peak. It had taken less than an hour on his first day of training school for the instructors to come up with his new name, and he had been called it ever since. Even his wife referred to him as Harrison.

  ‘I, for one, am looking forward to seeing Mr Jacobs.’ He held up the document he had been reading. ‘So I can discuss this with him.’

  Harrison was the most senior person on the Watch and one of the most respected in the station. He had been the FBU rep at East Brighton for almost two decades, and at some point, most people who worked there had gone to him for help in some form or another. He was a thoughtful, softly spoken man until he had to step up in his union capacity, at which point he could turn into a little pit bull if management was being difficult. Unfortunately, with all the changes going on in the service, this side of him was becoming more and more visible.

  ‘What’s up?’ Jimmy asked.

  ‘It’s the brigade’s response to the hazard reports we’ve been putting in about the radios. According to them, the problems we’ve been having are our own fault. Human error is what they’re quoting.’

  Jimmy shook his head. ‘I can’t believe they’re still trying to blame us for their dog-shit equipment.’

  ‘Yeah, our stupidity is the real issue, apparently. They also say that whenever possible we should try and be in direct line of sight with each other when using the radios.’

  ‘If we were in direct line of sight, we wouldn’t need fucking radios,’ Lenny said. ‘We’d just wave or shout.’

  Bodhi sipped the final remnants of his coffee. ‘I was thinking of getting some plastic cups from the water cooler and attaching them with string. Maybe they’ll work better.’

  Harrison patted his colleague’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to let it lie.’ He paused and looked to Wesley before speaking again. ‘I’ll be letting the Dep know exactly what I think.’

  ‘I appreciate your feelings on the matter,’ Wesley said, swallowing hard, ‘and I know how much effort you’ve put into highlighting the problems with the radios, but that’s not what Mr Jacobs is here to talk about today.’

  Harrison gave Wesley the look he usually reserved for senior managers. It made his boss wilt.

  ‘No, you’re right, the man is here to tell us he’s closing our fire station and putting the lives of local families, including mine, by the way, at risk. And you can be damn sure I’ll be letting him know how I feel about that too. If you think he’s going to come here and get an easy ride, you’re very wrong.’

  Wesley nodded. ‘I understand why you feel so strongly about it, Harrison, of course I do, and you’re entitled to say whatever you like to the Dep. I don’t want it to descend into a bunfight, that’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘And all I’m saying is, don’t try to censor me. He’s one of the architects of this station’s closure, and he deserves everything he gets. Am I right, fellas, or is it just me?’

  ‘Fuck yeah,’ Lenny said to the nods of the others. ‘He’ll be getting both barrels from me.’

  Dylan held his fist up in the Black Power pose. ‘Up the workers.’

  The conversation was interrupted by the sound of stiletto heels walking down the parquet flooring in the corridor. They looked to the doorway to see the station’s secretary totter in. Linda was an attractive woman in her mid-fifties, who always dressed immaculately, and was universally loved by the rest of the staff. Despite the macho bravado, they all knew she was by far the most important person at the station, and without her to keep everything running efficiently, the whole place would quickly fall apart.

  Lenny was all smiles. ‘Linda, my darling, you look lovely as usual. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

  Linda smiled back. ‘Please. That would be lovely.’

  He looked to Dylan with his angry face. ‘Oi, new boy, make Linda a cup of tea, and while you’re at it, you might as well get another pot of coffee on the go.’

  As the most recent member of the Watch, it was Dylan’s role to make the drinks. There was no point arguing; that was just the way things were, and until someone else came along, he would always be the new boy. Wesley looked at the clock again and did a quick calculation in his head, working out that if they got the coffee brewing it would take at least twenty minutes before he could even think about getting any work out of them. He went to say something to Lenny, but decided against it, and got himself another glass of water from the cooler.

  As the others teased Linda about what she had got up to over the weekend, what with her being a young(ish), free and single woman, the phone rang and then continued to do so as nobody bothered to get it. After six or seven cycles, Wesley dragged himself to his feet.

  ‘I’ll get it then,’ he mumbled.


  He had a kind of waddle when he walked and was heavy around the middle and behind. Unlike Jimmy, who, despite his beer belly, was barrel-chested and powerfully built, Wesley had the soft, wobbly physique of a man who had spent his best years stuck behind a desk.

  ‘East Brighton Fire Station, can I help you?’

  ‘Is that Wesley?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Now there’s a stroke of luck,’ the voice said. It was a deep and raw, and reeked of South London.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘You’re going to get a call in about five minutes to a boat fire at the marina.’

  ‘I said, who is it?’

  ‘You know exactly who this is, now shut the fuck up and listen. It’s time you and your boys paid the piper. When you get to the marina, come and find me.’

  ‘But–’

  ‘And don’t even think about speaking to the police. You know what happens to people when they cross me.’

  ‘But–’ was all Wesley could say before the line went dead.

  When he turned back to the table, his usually ruddy complexion was ashen.

  ‘What’s going down, Wes?’ Dylan asked.

  It was a while before Wesley spoke again.

  ‘We’re fucked,’ he finally said.

  Wes Street

  Three Months Earlier

  The little old lady who owned the flat was almost in tears as the water cascaded through her ceiling.

  ‘This is the third time it’s happened,’ she cried to Wesley who was trying to manoeuvre her away from the drips. She dabbed at her eyes as she took in the damage.

  ‘Try not to worry yourself,’ Wesley said as sympathetically as he could manage. ‘I’ve got my best firefighter up there dealing with it as we speak.’

  He looked to Dylan who had just finished moving the large cooking pot full of water from beneath the light bulb and replaced it with a plastic bin. Water always took the path of least resistance, and in most cases, that was via the electrical fittings.

  ‘Can you see if they’ve managed to get into the flat yet?’ Wesley asked. He had left his own radio on the fire appliance.

  Dylan nodded and spoke into his. ‘How you getting on up there, Len?’