Ethan Justice: Origins

9: Saturday 24th September, 18:00

HERB JOHNSON AND Maxwell Wilson were watching proceedings from seventy-five thousand pounds worth of sleek black Mercedes saloon.

"You've got to be kidding me," Wilson said, pointing to John Smith and Savannah Jones diving into the back of a London cab. "Those two are laughing and smiling like little children. Smith's no murderer. I think he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and if we follow him we'll end up with nothing."

Just then Savannah's former friend Amy ran past the car, waving her hands frantically in the air.

"Fire!" she screamed over and over.

Johnson and Wilson gave her less than a second's attention. Johnson turned back to his partner.

"Smith's thirty-two and Jones is twenty-one. Not exactly kids. Unless you've got a better idea then we stick with them and see what happens." Johnson pressed his foot gently on the accelerator, allowing six point two litres of V8 engine to pull them away with a throaty growl.

Johnson loved the Mercedes almost as much as he loved his job. Sure, it involved killing, but he prided himself on his ability to only end the lives of those who were a threat to others. Sometimes this meant going against orders but he always got the job done. He had to live with himself, after all. The job didn't exactly encourage relationships. He could wait until retirement for companionship.

Johnson's priority was to find Bradshaw's killer - which may or may not be Smith - and recover Bradshaw's deadly invention. All this while stuck with a partner who was a shadow of his former self. If Wilson lost him his perfect occupation, he had meant his threat. He would kill him and not lose a moment's sleep. Johnson had kissed too many asses and put in too many hours to see it all flushed away over the personal problems of Wilson. His job was his life and in that regard he was not a forgiving soul.

"If we want to cover our backs, shouldn't we take these two out?" Wilson asked, raising two fingers, pointing out of the window and pretend shooting a young woman with brightly dyed blue hair.

"Die," he said, feigning recoil with his hand.

Outside Johnson was unflappable while inside Wilson was seriously pissing him off. He took deep breaths to calm himself.

"Think man, think. Before we take anyone out we need to find out what their involvement is. Where would you have us go instead?"

"Visit Bradshaw's gambling circle. We've checked out all of his contacts and got nothing. Bradshaw must have sold the weapon to somebody one of his high-flying betting cronies introduced him to."

"Checked them out myself last night. Nothing."

"You're not keeping me in the loop here. How do you expect me to help?"

"In your current state you're next to useless and I expect you to help by carrying out every command I give you to the letter. Got it?"

Wilson looked away and aimed his fingers at a pink-haired teenager.

"Got it," he said as he pulled the imaginary trigger.

"Looks like they're heading upmarket," Johnson said, eager to keep Wilson from whatever dark thoughts occupied his mind. The man had been solid for five years. What had Johnson done to deserve this?

They followed the cab to Knightsbridge where the taxi pulled up outside the green frontage of Harrods department store. Smith and Jones jumped out and ran inside.

"Follow them and report back on what they do inside," Johnson said, stopping several cars behind.

"I can tell you now. They are going shopping."

Johnson took another deep breath. "Still, follow them and see what they get up to. I'll wait here. No getting trigger happy. Have you got your Taser? You can use that as a last resort."

"Sorry, lost it."

Johnson scowled. "Isn't that the third one you've lost since we've been together?"

"Sorry, boss."

"Promise me you won't shoot anyone."

"Yes, sir."

Johnson was getting tired of babysitting Wilson. Perhaps it would be better to take him to a quiet space and break his thick neck before he did too much damage. It wasn't possible without losing sight of Smith and Jones. He would reconsider later.

Wilson got out and slammed the door hard. Johnson winced inwardly and opened his window. When Wilson passed, en route to the department store entrance, Johnson called him over. Wilson bent down.

"What is it now? I get it. No shooting."

Johnson's hand shot out of the window catching his partner's Adam's apple with measured force. Wilson stumbled back, both hands clutching his throat, short rasping gasps filling the cold air with mini clouds of condensation.

"Don't slam the door," Johnson barked at his subordinate, whose eyes were still wide with surprise.

Herb Johnson shut the window and took in a deep breath. If he was going to get any use out of Wilson then he was going to have to scare it out of him. One more screw up and he would bury him. It had already been a long day and it still seemed a long way from the end. If he had to take down Smith then the chances were that the girl would have to die too. What was Smith's agenda? Johnson was convinced that he would lead them to the missing item. If he had to blow his brains out later then so be it. But not before he was sure Smith had killed Bradshaw.

He revved the engine before turning it off. The sound brought calmness to his thoughts.

*

I can't park anywhere near Harrods without a traffic warden pouncing on me in seconds. I can't kill a traffic warden on a busy pavement. I pull down a side street and double park. There is just enough room for other cars to pass. It is a risk I must take. I cannot lose the Mercedes. I grab my equipment bag from the back of the van and run back to Brompton Road. Luck is with me. Johnson is sitting in the car alone. The sky is dull and darkening but it is not enough to cover me. I walk along the pavement until I reach the rear of the Mercedes. I resist the need for a cigarette and I wait.

A stretch limousine pulls up several cars down. It has private number plates. All eyes are on the rear door as the chauffeur reaches for the door handle. I couldn't care less about a pop diva or Sultan but I welcome the distraction and drop to the floor and roll under Johnson's car. There is plenty of traffic noise but I can't be too careful. The undercarriage is reinforced. I will need to make adjustments. I get to work.