Souls At Zero (A Dark Psychological Thriller) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  BEFORE YOU GO

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Copyright © 2016 by Neal Martin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Neal Martin

  Visit my website at www.nealpmartin.com

  To Wendy and Breanna.

  CHAPTER ONE

  They came just after midnight, as Edger sat in the darkness of the old man's living room. He heard them outside, in the back alley, laughing and joking amongst themselves like they were arriving for a party instead of a break-in.

  Edger sat forward on a worn out armchair, his chest tightening with anticipation. It looked like the old man's source had been right. The house was next on the gang's list, having already done over three other houses in the street this past week, hospitalising an old woman in their last break-in, after they set upon her with fists and steel batons.

  Resting against the armchair was a PR-24 Tactical Baton. Grabbing the handle on the baton, so the length of it rested against his arm, Edger stood up and went out to the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, so he could see into the small kitchen beyond. Shadows appeared through the glass of the back door window. Barely hushed voices continued to laugh and baulk at each other.

  There was movement upstairs, and Edger looked up to the see the stooped shadow of Peter McCrory standing on the landing at the top of the stairs. "Harry?" the old man croaked. "Is that you?"

  "It's me, Peter," Edger assured him. "Go back to your bedroom until I tell you it's safe."

  The old man stood for a moment, before he shuffled across the landing back to his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  Edger stepped forward into the kitchen doorway, just as a flashlight beam shone through the glass of the back door, probing into the gloom of the kitchen. The shrill laughter continued. It sounded like they were all drunk, or on something.

  Probably both.

  "Keep it down, for fucks sake," the hulking outline nearest the door said, his own heavily accented voice not exactly hushed either.

  "Sure the aul cunt's in bed," said another voice, this one higher pitched, like his adolescent voice hadn't broke yet.

  "Aye," said another voice. "Even if he comes down, we'll kick the fuck out him anyway, like we did with that aul bitch the other night."

  They all started laughing. "Fuck," one of them said, a girl by the sounds of it. "She got some doing, didn't she?"

  A chorus of shrill laughter erupted.

  "Fuck up, will you's?" the one nearest the door said. "You want the cops here you's dozy fuckers?"

  The gang outside quieted down, though not completely, as they continued to whisper amongst themselves.

  Edger's grip tightened around the baton in his right hand.

  Is this how things are now in Belfast? Had gangs of out of control teenagers replaced the paramilitaries who used to spread fear on the streets?

  He had only been back in the city for fourteen months after a twelve year absence. Belfast had obviously caught up with every other city in the world now, and not in a good way.

  He walked into the kitchen, just as a heavy boot thudded against the back door, the noise resounding through the whole house. The old man was probably upstairs shitting himself right now.

  Another hard boot, and the door frame splintered, as the lock gave way and the back door flew open on its hinges to reveal the intruders standing outside. Their hushed cheers of success were cut short when they noticed Edger standing in the kitchen.

  The one who kicked the door in stopped dead, as surprise registered on his face. The kid looked about seventeen, though it was hard to tell in the semi-darkness. Despite the chilly October night, the kid wore only a dark coloured T-shirt that hugged the bulk of his upper body. He had the bloated physique of someone who abused steroids. The kid shone the light of his phone in Edger's direction, who squinted but didn't look away. After a few surprised what-the-fucks, a tense silence settled amongst the gang. If they had expected to see anyone, it was the frail old man who lived in the house, not the towering form of Edger.

  "You want to get that light out of my face?" Edger said to the steroid abuser.

  The light didn't move.

  "Who the fuck are you?" the kid asked, with as much attitude as he could muster, which was a surprising amount, given the circumstances. There was little fear in the kid's voice.

  "The aul cunt's got himself a bodyguard," one of the other kids said, from behind their leader. They all started laughing.

  "Kick the fuck out of him, Speedy," another said. "Cunt thinks he's the fucking Rock or somebody standing there."

  More laughter.

  Speedy kept the light in Edger's face for another moment, before moving it downwards. "What's that you've got in your hand?" he asked, his shrill voice incongruous with his large bulk.

  "Something I'm hoping I won't have to use," Edger replied. "If you're smart, you'll leave here and not come back. I won't give you another chance."

  Edger stepped forward to within thr
ee feet of Speedy, who didn't move back in response. His mates stayed outside, none of them choosing to stand by their mate in the kitchen, either because they were afraid, or because they thought their fearless leader didn't need any back up. Under ordinary circumstances, the latter was probably true. Speedy looked big enough, and arrogant enough, to handle himself. Thanks to the steroids that artificially inflated his muscles, and his status as top dog, it was unlikely Speedy was ever challenged by any of his peers. Which was why he seemed to be stupidly revelling in the chance to take down someone as big as Edger.

  Speedy's dark, beady eyes never left Edger as he put his phone in the front pocket of his jeans, then reached around behind his back. He wanted Edger to lock stares with him, but Edger kept his awareness on the kid's upper chest, where he could see every movement Speedy's arms and hands made. If this was Iraq, or North Africa, or one of the other war zones Edger had been in over the years, Speedy would be a hairs breadth away from getting shot right then, reaching around behind himself the way he did. But this was Belfast—the Poleglass estate—not a war zone (although some of the residents of the estate might disagree on that point). You couldn't just shoot people on the spot. Unless this wannabe hard man had a gun in the back of his jeans waistband, which Edger doubted. He knew the weapon the kid was going for even before he brought it out.

  Speedy smiled as he brought his hand around the front of him again. He flicked his wrist, and the telescopic steel baton in his hand shot out to two feet in length. Edger was familiar with the weapon in Speedy's hand, having used one on a few occasions himself, most recently for crowd control in Haiti. He was also keenly aware of what it felt like to be on the receiving end of a steel baton, after two Swedish MP's beat the shit out of him with similar batons on a drunken night in Sarajevo many years ago. There was no doubt the batons could do damage. Probably smart of the kids to carry them instead of knives. Too easy to kill someone with a knife. Then you'd be looking at real time for murder or attempted murder. As long as you didn't overdo it with a baton, you could stay within GBH range, which meant less time. Not that the kid in front of him seemed too concerned about doing time. Speedy's young age, and boundless arrogance, made it easy for him to see himself as untouchable.

  "I'll ask you again," Edger said, glancing briefly at the other kids gathered in the back doorway, who, judging by their eager, spotty faces, obviously expected to witness their leader beating Edger to a pulp. "Turn around and leave, before you get hurt."

  Edger didn't expect his warning to be heeded, neither did he want it to be. He knew all along that things could only end one way. It was the only way to ensure he got his message across, otherwise the gang would just come back another time.

  A snorting sound left Speedy's mouth as he turned around and glanced at his cohorts for a second, who all smiled back at him like feral cats. When he turned his head again, Speedy's face had hardened into a look off aggression, as he proceeded to give Edger the hard-man stare. He took a step forward towards Edger and made a show of expanding his chest, stretching himself up to his full height, which was a little over six feet, but still three inches shorter than Edger.

  "How about you go and fuck yourself, mate?" Speedy snarled, and for the first time Edger saw the extent of the acne on the kids face, no doubt exacerbated by his steroid use. With his round head, the term pizza-face came to mind. "I'm going to beat you to a fucking pulp."

  Edger didn't move. He kept his awareness centred around Speedy's barrel chest and massive round shoulders. He could tell the kid wanted direct eye contact, but that wasn't going to happen. No doubt Speedy was used to his victims cowering under the weight of his intimidating stare, letting it distract them so much they didn't see his attack coming until it was too late. Edger had been in too many of these situations. He knew better than to give up control by letting himself get drawn in by another person's intimidation tactics.

  The steel baton rested by the side of Speedy's right leg. He shifted the leg back a bit, clearly readying himself to swing the weapon at Edger's skull. Two seconds later, the baton swung out behind him, before coming flying forward again towards Edger's head.

  Edger's own baton was made from polycarbonate and was hard as steel. The PR-24 model was one favoured by the LAPD in America, the same model used to beat the shit out of Rodney King in the early nineties, a beating which ended up sparking a riot. Edger had no interest in beating the shit out of anyone, but he would if he had to. He was just glad to have the right tool to defend himself

  As Speedy's thin, steel baton came swishing through the air towards him, Edger brought his arm across himself in a blocking motion, and the PR-24 took all the impact of Speedy's baton blow. Edger then shot his forearm towards Speedy's face. A loud crack sounded, as the cartilage in Speedy's nose got crushed by the hard polycarbonate of the PR-24. The kid screamed, staggered back as blood exploded across his face, his beady eyes full of rage as he glared at Edger, who stood staring back with the baton by his side.

  "You're fucking dead!" Speedy roared before he rushed at Edger again, the steel baton raised high this time like he intended to cleave Edger's skull in two. Edger smoothly stepped to the side to avoid the attack. At the same time, he swung the PR-24 baton around in an arcing motion, so that the end of it cracked against Speedy's skull, forcefully redirecting the kid's massive bulk, crashing him into the sink and worktops, dishes smashing everywhere. Edger then flipped the PR-24 around, so that he was holding the end of it, the way you would a night stick, then he whacked it against one of Speedy's bulky thighs. Speedy screamed again, and fell to the floor, taking more dishes down with him.

  "Get up, Speedy!" one of his gang shouted from the back doorway. "Don't let this cunt beat you!"

  Harry spun around and pointed the baton at them. "Get the fuck out of here now!" he snarled, his eyes burning into every one of them. "Or the next skull I crack will be one of yours."

  The half dozen teenagers stared at Edger for a moment, like a bunch of rabbits in headlights, then one by one they began to back off, moving further into the darkness of the back yard, away from the house.

  "Where you's going?" cried Speedy from the floor. "Fucking get this cunt!"

  Edger half turned and whacked Speedy in the balls with the tip of the baton. A high pitched scream erupted from Speedy's mouth. Edger pointed the baton back at the rest of the gang, who had all but backed off by now.

  "You're fucking dead, Mister!" one of the braver ones shouted, a young kid in a blue tracksuit, who despite his threat, backed off anyway. "You'll be got!"

  When the gang outside had left the back yard, Edger turned his attention back to Speedy, who lay on the floor, one hand holding his balls, the other hand trying to stem the blood still streaming from his broken nose. "That didn't go very well for you, did it, Speedy?" Edger said, putting the PR-45 on the kitchen worktop.

  "Fuck you!"

  "You need to work on your vocabulary, son. Do you read much?"

  Speedy stared up at him with eyes that tried to show defiance but only betrayed his fear and utter consternation at being asked such a pointless question. He said nothing.

  "I didn't think so. That's part of the problem with you kids these days. You don't read books. Spend all your time on your phone." Edger shook his head. "Anyway. I'm not your da. It's up to you what you do with yourself."

  Edger dropped one knee down onto the teenager's chest, pinning him to the floor, and Speedy groaned at the massive pressure on his sternum. Edger then reached inside his own jacket and took out the Glock 17 pistol from the shoulder holster he was wearing. He pointed the gun at Speedy's head.

  "Oh fuck, Mister…don't kill me! Please!"

  Not that Edger enjoyed pulling a gun on a kid, but he didn't have a choice. It was the only way to insure Speedy and his gang would leave the old man alone, not to mention the rest of the residents in the street. He pressed the gun against Speedy's forehead, and Speedy started to cry. "Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you right now, son?"
Edger said to him. "You're a fucking waste of space. No one would miss you."

  "Please, Mister, I'm sorry…please don't fucking shoot me, please don't…"

  Harry pressed the gun harder into Speedy's forehead, eliciting a gargled squealing noise from the kid's throat. "You're out of your depth, son."

  "I know! I'm sorry!" His eyes were squeezed shut now. "I'm sorry…don't kill me, Mister…don't kill me…"

  Harry removed the gun from the kid's forehead. "Look at me."

  Speedy, his face a mess of tears, snot and blood, could barely bring himself to look at Edger as he continued sniffling on the floor.

  "If you ever come near this house again, for any reason, I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. For that matter, if I hear tell of you or any of your little gang coming anywhere near this street again, I will hunt you down and put a bullet in your head. Your ma will have to put you in a closed casket. Is that what you want?"

  Speedy shook his head. "Jesus…no."

  Edger almost felt sorry for the kid until he reminded himself of the terror Speedy and his gang of miscreants had been spreading around the estate for months now. Shits like him needed to be taught a lesson. That's all there was to it. Edger took his knee of the kids chest and stood towering over him. "Get up."

  Speedy gave the gun in Edger's hand a terrified look, then managed to pick himself up off the floor. All traces of his former hard man persona were gone, leaving a frightened school boy in their wake.

  Edger continued glaring at the kid for another moment then stepped aside. "Go on, get out of here. And remember what I said, for your own sake, and your ma's."

  Speedy nodded his head once before warily sliding his bulk past Edger towards the door. When he got the back door, he stopped and looked around at Edger. "Who are you anyway, Mister?"

  Edger stared at the kid for a second, then replied, "Your worst nightmare, son, if I have to be."

  The kid gave him a rattled look, then scuttled out the door.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Peter McCrory hobbled into the kitchen while Edger was in the process of cleaning up the mess made during his altercation with Speedy. The old man stood in the doorway, wearing a pair of faded paisley pyjamas and brown slippers. He looked around with rheumy eyes at the mess in his tiny kitchen. "You sorted them out, did you?"