A Short Story: As Heroes Fall by Frank Sonderborg (Part 1)

Here, in 2 parts, for the benefit of the Steem community is the first story I had accepted.
It was first published in the excellent Action: Pulse Pounding Tales Volume 2 Edited by Matt Hilton.
Packed full of exciting writers and stories.
And still available on Amazon if anybody is interested.
‘As Hero’s Fall’ is a short violent story.
Leave a comment, drop a coin in the Virtual Busking Blockchain Blog Hat if you must.
But mostly, as always: Enjoy

Pics courtsey of Pixabay,

As Heroes Fall by Frank Sonderborg (Part 1)

She spotted him standing by the police barrier. It was still chucking down hailstones.
So he stood out in his Armani overcoat and smart hat.
Not many men wearing smart hats these days.
He was staring in the direction of the body by the canal.
The wind battering him and the water pouring down his expensive coat.
As if he knew she would be forced to go and ask who the hell he was.

She ignored him and went back to her day job.
She had just been promoted to Detective Constable Anne Silkton. It still sounded so good on the ear.
The crime scene guys were doing their stuff and she got a run down as to what they believed happened the victim.
She took copious notes.
As the rain threatened to blow her and her iPad away.
And wondered again where the hell was her new partner DC Brian Evans.

This was a big case and had all the hallmarks of a ritual gangland liquidation.
And she was stuck here doing it on her own.
She did have a weird feeling about this.
Back in the station there had not exactly, been a wild rush to take on the case.
But she had just put it down to the bad weather that had been battering the UK for the past month.
Evans just told her to head on out and he would follow as soon as he was finished with some very important business.

She nearly threw up when she had seen the mutilated naked body spread across the canal towpath.
Things had been done.
How could anybody be that vicious that barbaric.

He was still there, watching and getting very wet.
She thanked the Gods again for her wet proofs.
And then decided she better do some detective work and see, who this smart dressed good time Charlie was.

She had spent her time pounding the Basingstoke beat and had not come across anybody like this piece of work.
He looked very muscular and very tall, at least 6'4''
So she had to look up under his smart hat, when she asked him the obvious, first starter for 10.

“So who, are you?”

McColl had watched her move around the crime scene taking notes and every now and then looking his way.
She seemed to know her job. Now she was in his face and asking questions.

He waved his big gold detective badge.

“Garda Siochana Detective Inspector Vincent McColl, seconded to EuroPol. And you are?”

This threw her as she had expected lots of answers but not this.

“DC Anne Silkton, was all she could say.

“A bad business,” said McColl.

“EuroPol?” Said Anne, “What’s it got to do with the Euro Police Dept?”

McColl looked down at her, dripping water in her wet proofs.
Blonde short hair under her hood.
No makeup. No boyfriend.
Good looking in a fresh farmers-market non plastic country type of way.
Tough. Smart. But alone on a shit murder case.

“Your victims name is Tony Molony.
Age 24, from Cabra on the North side of Dublin.
Ran with the Maddox tribe.
Formerly employed as an enforcer, hit man, face smacker, bone breaker.
A charming guy, unhappily married with 3 children.
Had a mistress in Foxrock and a Russian boyfriend in Alicante.
Worked out, took lots of dodgy steroids, banned vitamins and even dodgier sunbed trips.
Alive he looked like a muscle bound orange.
Dead, he looks just dead.
He has been dead around three days, tops.”

McColl said this all in one go, totally devoid of emotion.

Her mouth dropped open.
She closed it immediately as it started to fill with the falling water.

“You don’t happen to know how he died,” she asked sarcastically.

McColl stared down at her and continued.

“They cut off his balls.
More than likely while he was still alive.
Sewed them in his mouth. Comanche style.
Then they burned out his eyes. Colombian style.
Blow torch, I would presume.
They gave him a few thousand cuts with his own Spyderco Native Knife.
Burned him some more with the blow torch.
Bleed and Burn I believe they call it in the North Dublin Skanger lingo.”

Again delivered like a shopping list from Dante’s local supermarket.

She had held it back when she was with the Vic.
But now she turned and threw up most of last night’s Meat Monster Pizza and a half bottle of Chilean Merlot.

What she desperately needed now was a whiskey.

“Shall I continue?” Said McColl.

“Don’t let me stop you.” said Anne as she wiped her mouth with her handkerchief.

“He has been shot once in the head. His throat has been cut and to top off a great day at the slaughter house,
a large spike has been hammered through his left eye.
The shooting, cutting and the burning where not done here.
So you will not find much blood.
The spiking is the last act.
So it will have been done on the canal towpath while he was very much dead.
Its, how would Shakespeare have put it, an artistic gesture, a dramatic warning.”

“Wow! Said Anne in spite of herself.

It was more or less word for word what was in her notes.

“You have played this game before.”

“Indeed I have,” said McColl, “And more importantly so have they.”

“They, so who, are they?” Said Anne.

“Who might they be? What mastermind could have planned and executed this dastardly deed,” whispered McColl.

“Cut the fucking Shakespearian word games. Yes, who the fuck would do something like that," said Anne
pointing back at the corpse.
She was starting to get very annoyed, as her case seemed to have spiralled way out of control.
And going through her head, again and again for about the thousandth time, was,
where the fuck was that smug bastard DC Evans.

“Yea, I know who killed your Vic. I know why they killed him.
And I know why you are standing here in the cold rain while your partner is off having a warm wank.”

This really threw her out of her comfort zone.

“How? What the F.....” But she was to shocked to continue it.

“Can we get in out of the rain, Please,” McColl asked.

She nodded.

They went over to his hired Jaguar and sat in the comparative warmth out of the gale.
She sat staring ahead, feeling very uncomfortable sitting this close to a stranger.
All her training, all her life was filled with the first command.
“Thou shalt not get into cars with strangers.” It was never
“Thou shalt not get into bed with strangers."
Which is all she had been doing since she was sixteen.
She felt a strong urge to smoke a cigarette.
Or chew gum or drink Vodka, or just do something.

McColl just stared out the Jags window.

“Molony was over here to do a job.”

“A job? You mean kill someone.”

“Yea, Kill, Top, Slot, or whatever the latest Andy McNob action word is for it these days.
The Halloran’s brothers, Tommy and Willie. Big players on the drug scene in Dublin.
Ran an army of cut throats and skin the bags.
North side Gangland Warlord stuff across Swords, Ballymun, Coolock.”

“You make them sound so romantic, so like the shit-hole places we read about in Afghanistan.”

She said to lighten the tone.

It worked. McColl gave a tight smile.

“Afghanistan is civilized compared to these pumped up lawless skin the bags.”

“So what are two, what did you call them, skin the bags, doing in Basingstoke.”

“Simples.” said McColl

“They are hiding. Well at least they were hiding." He continued.

"Look, the drug scene in Dublin shifts more sand than Dollymount strand.”

Anne looked confused.

“Never mind, let’s just say it’s hard to see when the tide is in or out, except by counting the floating dead cats.”

“The body count,” said Anne surprising herself by getting it

“Yea. Indeed. You are sharp as a tack,” he continued as dry as ever.

“Some big drug deal went pear shaped and the Halloran’s brothers where no longer welcome, hanging out with the in crowd.
So they absconded to Alicante.”

“Alicante?” Why not Hawaii or Bali?"

“No, Alicante is home from home for these skin the bags.
People know who they are and are suitably shit scared. These guys are Warlords, Scrotum Royalty.”

“Oh! So, they were not hiding then.”

“No, not then. Not until Maddox decided to remove them from this good earth, on a permanent basis.”

“So that’s what the shootouts in Spain were all about.”

“Yes it did surprisingly, make the UK news for once. I was sent down to see what was going on, but by that time the Halloran’s had done a runner.”

“To the UK! Basingstoke!” Said Anne.

“Yea balmy, sun soaked Palm tree lined home of the stars, Basingstoke.”

“Where are they now,” asked Anne sipping on the flask of whiskey McColl had given her.
It was still bitter cold and still chucking down rain.
The Police unit was finished and were packing up and moving on.

“The Halloran’s are renting, in one of those high rise apartment blocks, beside the Basingstoke railway station.
And they hang out in a bar called, and he read from a bright pink card.
“The Baz Bang Gang Bar,” he sighed and said, “Just lovely.”

“I know it,” Said Anne,“The Baz Bang Gang Bar, it’s on the Parade. It's a favourite haunt for the local Baz Gay community.
Are they Gay?”

“Gay! Not these fucking Neanderthals.”
Then he turned and looked at her.
“But they will fuck anything that moves on 2, 3 or 4 legs. Then kill it for fun.
Think Pumped up Polish steroid muscles, sun bed tanned body builder egos.
Pink beach brain wear. Are you getting the picture.”

“I think so,” said Anne. Not really getting it at all.

“Molony used a pistol, a Glock 17. Did you happened to find it?”

“No, nothing on the body or nearby. It’s possible it’s in the canal.
We can dredge it, if you like.”

“Not my case remember,” McColl said taking back his whiskey.

“What are you really here after,” she finally brought herself to say.
Turning now to look in his brooding brown eyes.

He stared at her a moment and then looked away and started tapping the steering wheel with his right index finger.

“Justice, I suppose I am here about justice. Molony was a low life punk, but he didn't deserve that.
Nobody deserves to end up like that.”

Anne felt like throwing up again. She controlled it and told him to get his ass down to the station.

“You can make out a full report. You seem to know all about these Skanger ritual killing games.”
She got out and headed for her own car.

He drove off at speed.

She didn't like it, but she had a feeling, she knew exactly where he was going.

To Be Continued..............................