Chapter 27.
Joshua stood at the other end of the street, watching the commotion as Jon Goldsmith was led to a police car and shoved violently into the back. The rain was coming down in sheets, but he ignored it, made no attempt to move or protect himself, it was almost as if it didn’t exist.
He watched with interest as a man came and stood in the doorway to the café (the owner, of course, he realised) and watched the three police cars drive away, tyres screeching in the rain, sirens still blaring. The man gazed sadly at the departing cars, then looked across and caught Joshua’s eye. They stood like that for some time, staring at each other, until the man turned back into his café and pulled the door shut behind him. A couple of seconds later, the Open sign in the door turned to Closed, and the lights went out.
Joshua remained there for a few minutes. He thought for a second about Jon Goldsmith. Serves him right, little fucker, were his exact thoughts. The blood and the stains from his previous encounter with Goldsmith still wouldn’t wash off, he looked down for a second to remind himself. He had been wearing the same clothes for the last, what, three days, having been on the run, having been beaten up, and stabbed, and having unexpectedly taken the upper hand. Despite the rain, he could still feel Goldsmith’s stench on his clothes, the unmistakable scent of a loser.
He looked at his right hand, how it still glowed, albeit more and more faintly; he still scratched his head at exactly what had happened, though clearly it was something to do with the combination of that drug he had been injected with and Terri’s finger. Had to be. Why else was it so important? And he thought to the things he’d seen, if only for the most fleeting moment, as he must have passed where Terri went. Had he seen her, had he really seen her, he wasn’t sure.
And then there was Mr. Steele. Mark Steele. A faint smile on Joshua’s face as he remembered the surprise, no, the absolute shock, when Steele opened his door and saw Joshua standing there.
“C-come in” he had said, uncertainly. He had led Jon into the small terraced house, through a narrow hallway and into a sparsely furnished living room. Joshua smiled inside, remembering his dad talking about this. Mark Steele, always wary, always cautious, moving from one house to another, never allowing his enemies to catch up with him. And what was the fucking point, dad had said. I mean, really. Live like a hermit, you may as well be a hermit. And now, looking around here, he understood what his dad had meant. He was even too scared to live with his wife and kid, had them stashed away somewhere. And it was all going to end here, in any case.
Steele had sat perched on the edge of one of the threadbare sofas. Hadn’t offered him a drink, hadn’t asked him to sit down, hadn’t even asked how he had found him (although Joshua wasn’t entirely sure how he would have answered that one). Steele hadn’t been brash, hadn’t been demanding, hadn’t asked for his money, had just been quiet and accepting.
“I was sorry about your father” he had said, “a good man. I hope you understand I had to hold you to account.”
“He was a bastard” was all Joshua had replied.
“Killing me won’t make a difference, you know” Steele’s only half-hearted attempt to avoid his fate. “He’s still after you. He’ll always be after you. You should have known. You should never have got involved.”
Joshua had shrugged. “It was unintentional. But I’m dealing with it.”
Steele had laughed sadly. “You’ll never overcome him. You should have known that. You’ve inherited none of your father’s intelligence. Only his impulsiveness. And that’s what got him killed.”
“We’ll see” and Steele had looked only puzzled, as Joshua leaned forward. A knife across the throat, the quickest and most efficient way. Left at the scene, Goldsmith’s weapon of choice. That there was no DNA evidence didn’t matter, professionals knew how to get rid of that anyway. A quick, anonymous call with a tip off was all it had taken.