Those who beg for mercy don't often deserve it...

In this Showcase Short Story, we meet a professional thug with an unusual moral code.  

Cold Mercy

by

Dave Sivers

1

Mercy.  I’ve heard a lot of people beg for it, and no doubt some deserve it.  But in my experience, those ones are few and far between.
That’s probably just as well, seeing as I’m tender-hearted by nature.  Which is less than ideal in my line of work. 
You see, I hurt people for a living.
Not that they always beg.  There are those who know, the moment me and Billy walk through the door, what we’ve come for.  They are resigned to it.  They come quietly, and they take what’s coming like men.
Others simply can’t believe what’s happening to them.  They dissolve into tears.  Some of them wet themselves or worse.  And they grovel, making pathetic promises about their future behaviour, asking for another chance.  What they don’t understand is that by then it’s way too late.  I don’t make those decisions.   I’m just the consequence.
I don’t even know what they’ve done to deserve it.  I don’t want to know.  It’s not for me to judge them and besides, I sleep better at night that way.
No, there are only two things I need to know:  who the target is; and what wants doing to them.  The ‘what’ can vary immensely.  It might be a no-nonsense bloody good hiding with fists and boots.  It might be a beating with a baseball bat.  The target might need to be marked, with a knife or a razor, or they might have to lose a finger or two, or maybe an ear.
One time, the target was an up and coming young rock guitarist.  Or he was until we smashed his hands with a lump hammer.
I do draw the line at killing, though.  I’m not a monster.
 Which was always a source of some disappointment to my boss.  Many’s the time he put an arm around my shoulders, shook his head, and said, “Frankie, Frankie.  How long do you think you can go on breaking heads?  You’re not getting any younger.  One day soon, you’ll be slower.  You’ll make mistakes.  You should think about moving up a notch or so.  Show some ambition.”
 You know, this wasn’t exactly a career choice for me.  When I was growing up, I was rubbish at school, and it was obvious quite early on that I wasn’t destined for anything requiring brains.  But I did have one teacher who saw something in me.  He was trying to get a school boxing club started and kept on at me to give it a go.  He wore me down, and it turned out I wasn’t too bad.  Not good enough for the big time, but I could certainly hold my own.
 After school, I drifted into a warehouse job - dead boring and lousy money - but I also started going to the local gym to spar.  And that’s where I met Bernie Mack.
 Bernie was a leading local gangster.  Not exactly up with the Krays - this is Bedfordshire, for pity’s sake - but notorious and scary, and not a man to cross.  For some reason, he took a shine to me and asked if I’d like to work for him on what he called ‘the enforcement side’.  The money was very good, the work straightforward enough, and no one said no to Bernie Mack.
 He’d always had a mean streak, and he got decidedly nastier after his brother got himself shot.  But he was always good to me.  I used to think he saw himself as a bit of a father figure to me, although, to be honest, I never saw it that way.  Not that my own father was much to write home about.  A drunken bully who was handy with his fists after a few pints, until I got big enough and handy enough to put a stop to all that. 
 So there I was.  Doing whatever Bernie Mack wanted, short of killing anyone.  I was all right for cash, but I knew he would have liked me to put aside my qualms about murder.  It was touching in a sick way.  I think he was ambitious for me.  Or at least, back then I thought that was what it was.  He always grudgingly accepted my refusals but, like I say, he’s not a man you say no to if he really wants something.
 Billy always thought I was mad to turn away the lucrative contracts Bernie occasionally dangled in front of me. 
 “I’d do it like a shot,” he said once over a pint.  “I mean, some of the people we’ve worked on are still in the hospital.  Vegetables.  That’s not so different to killing them, Frank.  In fact, it’s probably a lot worse.”
 I knew he had a point, but I still had some principles.  God knows, I didn’t have many.
 Then, one day, along came Lisa and everything changed.
 It didn’t happen a lot, but occasionally Bernie would ask us to pick somebody up and bring them to him.  I hated that, because it meant he wanted to watch us do whatever he had in mind for them.  To my mind there was something a bit creepy about that.  A bit like masturbating in public. 
Also, Bernie used to take delight in telling them exactly why they were in deep shit.  Like I said, I never like to know why, and so I didn’t like hearing all that.  But a job’s a job.
 Her name was Lisa Smith, and we picked her up when she came out of the shop where she worked at lunchtime.  She looked about twenty.  I told her to come quietly or I’d have to hurt her, and she had the brains not to make a scene.  She sat in the back of the car with me while Billy drove, and she said nothing for about five minutes.  She showed no sign of panic, or fear.  I guessed she might not be the begging kind, but then she didn’t know what Billy and I are capable of.
 “So, what’s all this about?” she said finally as Billy headed into the heart of Luton.
 “Someone wants a word with you,” I told her.  “That’s all I know.”
 “Who?”
 “You’ll find out.”
 She gave me a hard look.  “You’re not the police.  You don’t look like the police, you don’t smell like them, and you haven’t shown me any ID.”  She frowned.  Her face was long and serious and framed by straw-coloured hair.  There was something about that frown, something familiar that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
 “Is it to do with my dad?” she asked.
 I put my face close to hers.  “Listen, sweetheart.  I don’t know who your dad is, and I don’t want to know.  When we get where we’re going, you can ask my boss all the questions you like.”
 “Who knows?” Billy cackled from the front.  “You might even get some answers!”  He started laughing and that turned into a coughing fit that had the car weaving all over the road.
 “Get a grip, Bill,” I sighed.  After years of working together, Billy still had a talent for getting on my wick.  He was seriously short in the brains department, which was why Bernie Mack had never asked him to kill anyone.  You don’t make a mess of a murder, or it will come back to haunt you.  And, as Bernie knew, that was one step away from haunting him.
 “It must be to do with my dad,” Lisa said resignedly.  “Bastard’s been back in prison for two years, and he’s still making trouble for me and Mum.  What’s he done this time?”
 “I told you,” I said, “I don’t know your dad.”
 “Carl Smith,” she supplied.
 “Shut up,” I snarled.
   But I knew Carl Smith all right, and once upon a time I’d known his wife, Annie.  Smith was a common enough name, so I’d had no reason to connect Lisa to him up to now.  But I knew there was no love lost between him and Bernie.  His latest spell inside had started about a year ago, and Carl was strictly small-time, but with big ideas and contacts on the outside.  What had he got his daughter into?
 She shrugged and stared out the window.  I studied her profile out of the corner of my eye.  There was something of her mother about her, now I looked, and I realised where I’d seen that frown before.

2

Bernie Mack owned an old warehouse out on a run-down industrial estate where half the units were empty and the other half were run by people who kept themselves to themselves and made sure they knew nothing about what went on inside Bernie’s premises.  Not that a casual police raid would find anything not strictly legit, mainly because Bernie owned a few coppers who would tip him the wink well in advance.
 Billy didn’t so much park the car as abandon it on the tarmac apron in front of the side door.  We all got out.  Lisa didn’t try to run.  If she was scared, she didn’t show it.  I went to take her by the arm to lead her round to the side door, and she shrugged me off.
 “I can walk.”
   She was so young, and she held herself proudly.  I didn’t like the idea of breaking her.  Not one bit.
“She’s a tough one,” chuckled Billy.  “Let’s see how tough you are in a little while, darling.”
 “Shut the fuck up, Billy,” I snapped, feeling bad inside.
 Billy raised his hands placatingly, his potato face beaming at me.  “All right, mate, keep your hair on.  Christ, you’ve not gone soft over her, have you?”
 “I’ll do my job.  Just keep your mouth shut.”
 He looked about to make another smart remark, saw the look in my eyes, and kept his lips zipped.
 The warehouse was like a big barn inside.  Bernie always kept a large area in the centre clear.  At Christmas he’d have tables set up here and there’d be drinks for people lower down the pecking order, like Billy and me.  Once a year he’d get a ring set up and there would be a boxing tournament for local lads - his way of ‘putting something back into the community’.  He’d asked me a couple of times to get involved in that, but I’d long since given up anything to do with boxing for less energetic sports.
 He also used that centre of the warehouse when he wanted to witness a punishment, like today.  He sat there in an expensive-looking dining chair with arms, a little overweight these days, but dapper as ever in a charcoal-grey chalk-striped suit.  The silk hanky in his breast pocket exactly matched the red of his tie.  He was flanked by two of his flunkies - Fast Kevin and Big Mal.  Kevin resembled a gorilla.  Big Mal resembled his uglier brother.
 The place was illuminated by big dazzling lights, and the three of them were smoking.  The pungent aroma of Bernie’s fat cigar obliterated that of the others’ roll-ups, but didn’t quite take away the tang of blood I always fancied I smelt in here.
 Bernie smiled at Lisa and gestured to an identical chair opposite him.  She gave another of her impudent shrugs and sat down. 
 “A shame,” he said.  “You seem a nice young girl.”
 She stared back at him.  “Any chance you’re going to tell me what this is all about?”
 “I’m Bernie Mack,” he said with an airy wave of his hand.  “I dare say you’ve heard of me.”
 Her eyes widened as if she was impressed, and then she grinned.  “Uh, no.  Why, are you like, a celebrity?”
 He looked peeved.  “Round here, I am girl.  And trust me.  You’ll be smirking the other side of your face in a moment or two.”
 She looked at me.  “Is this some sort of hidden camera thing?  Only I feel like I’ve wandered onto the set of ‘The Godfather’.”
 “Take my advice,” I said.  “You don’t want to piss him off.”  But I knew where she got the attitude from, and it was hard to keep a straight face myself.
 Bernie must have spotted that, because he gave me a hard look.  “This is how it is,” he said to Lisa.  “I need to send a message to your dad.”
 That frown again.  “Then you’ve picked the wrong person.  I don’t go to see him.  I don’t want to see him.”
 “Not that sort of message.”  Bernie slapped his hands on his chair arms and levered himself to his feet.  “Look.  It’s like this.  I had a brother.  Terry.  Oh, we never really got on, but blood is blood, don’t you think?”
 “I suppose.”
 “He died.  About 18 months ago.  A drive-by shooting.  Well, Lisa, you can imagine.  I couldn’t let that pass.  I took it very personally.  It made me angry.  Still does.”  He drew on his cigar.  “I had my ideas about who might be responsible, but I wanted to be sure.  And, a couple of weeks ago I got what I needed.  Your dad’s a bit too free with his mouth, and he let on to the wrong person in the prison canteen.  Seems he set my brother up just before he went away again.”
 Lisa blinked.  “Sorry?  And what’s that to me?”
“A good question, love.  I don’t know... looks, personality and brains too.  Like I say, a great pity.”  He began to pace, and I began to see what all this was leading up to.
“Here’s the thing.” Bernie said.  “There are plenty of ways a man like me can get to someone in jail and punish them.  But that’s too simple.  Your father has been trying to do business on my turf for too long, and when he killed Terry - well, like I say, blood is blood.  So what better way to show him what happens when you spill my family’s blood than to do the same to him?”
I glanced Lisa’s way, and for the first time she looked afraid.  “Now, wait a minute,” she said, half-rising from her chair.  Fast Kevin stepped across and pushed her back down.  “Look, I don’t know you, and I didn’t know your brother.  I don’t even like my dad, to be honest.  I don’t think he cares that much about me, either.  And I’d never heard of you before today.  Seriously.”
“That’s a pity too,” he said.  “I think I quite like you.  Oh, well.”  He shrugged and turned to one of his flunkies.  “Big Mal?”
Mal reached inside his jacket and produced a gun, which he handed to Bernie.  Bernie in turn held it out to me.
“I want you to do this one, Frankie.  It’s about time.”

3

I felt panic rising inside me.  There was something different about today.  I had the feeling he might not take no for an answer this time.  I looked at Lisa, and she looked back at me.  There was fear in her eyes, but she was doing her best not to show it.
“You know I don’t do that sort of thing, Bernie,” I protested, keeping my voice low and even.
“Then it’s about time you did.  Like I’ve said before, you’re not getting any younger.  Besides, you’re brighter than you let on.  If you lost that squeamish streak, you could go a long way in this game.”
“I don’t kill people, and I don’t do shooters.”
“You belong to that gun club.  That’s shooters.  I hear you’re a crack shot.”  He smiled.  “There’s fifty grand in it for you.”
It was true.  One of my things since getting out of boxing was snooker.  The other was target shooting.
“Targets aren’t the same as people,” I said.  I looked at him in his fancy suit, his smile arrogant, so sure that I’d do what he wanted, and I felt sick.  “If you want to send that message so bad, why don’t you do it yourself?”
“And get blood and brains on my nice clothes?  What do I keep dogs like you for, if I want to bark myself?”
I gestured to the two flunkies.  “One of them, then.”
“I want you to do it.”  He gave me a sly grin.  “Come on.  She’s Carl and Annie’s daughter?”
“I know.”
Lisa stared at me, frowning that frown again.  “I thought you didn’t know my dad?”
“I lied,” I mumbled
“Oh, he knew him” said Bernie.  “But he knew you mother better.  Biblically, I mean.  They were quite the item before your dad came along and swept her off her feet.  Just about broke his heart.  I don’t think he ever truly got over it.”  He gave me a serious look.  “We both owe Carl.  But you owe Annie one, too, Frankie, after the way she dumped you.  So what could be easier?  Take out their daughter and give them a both bit of the pain they gave you.  And earn some decent money, too.  Tell you what.  I’ll make it a hundred grand.  That’s a lot of cash.”
I looked at him.  He was hungering for the kill.  The smell of blood in the warehouse may only be in my mind, but it seemed stronger.  I looked at Lisa’s pale face, and I felt something dying inside me. 
I did the only thing I could think of.  I turned and walked towards the door.
“Shit, Frankie,” Billy called after me.  “A hundred grand?  Let me do it, Mr Mack.”
I heard Bernie sigh.  “All right, then Billy.  You’ve used a gun before?”
“How hard can it be?”
I thought Bernie might be bluffing.  Like I said, he’d never shown any sign of trusting Billy with that sort of work.  But you never knew.  I spun round on my heel.
“You’d fuck it up, Billy.  She’ll suffer more than she has to.”  I made a decision.  One that would change everything.  “Fuck you, Bernie,” I whispered.  “Give me the gun.”  I stalked up to him with my hand held out.
“Oh, Jesus,” Lisa whimpered, all the bravado gone now.  She looked absolutely terrified, her face ashen, her knees literally knocking together.  Even in that great aircraft hangar of a place, amid the reek of blood and cigars, I could smell her fear.
Bernie placed the gun in my hand, looking smug.  “We’ll talk about what to do with the body afterwards.”
I took off the safety and pointed it at Lisa’s head.  She whimpered and closed her eyes.
And then I turned the sights on Bernie Mack.
“Frank,” gasped Billy.  “What you doing?”
It all happened very fast.  Almost in unison, the two gorillas plunged their hands inside their jackets.  Big Mal came up with a handful of air, because I already held his gun in my hand.  Fast Kevin lived up to his name, but he wasn’t nearly quick enough to beat a man who didn’t need to draw.  My first shot took him high in the shoulder, and the second blew half his head away, spraying blood and flesh and other matter. 
Big Mal dithered, looking like he didn’t know whether to run or tackle me.  In the end, he ran, but he didn’t get far.  Bernie had been right about me being a crack shot.
Bernie himself stood like a statue.  He was still smiling, but the smile looked plastered on.
“Well, that’s a turn-up,” he observed.  “I thought you were no killer?”
“You wanted to make me one,” I grated back at him.  “Well, you succeeded.”
I was aware that Lisa was gagging and gasping, but I couldn’t spare her any attention.  Not right now.
“Fair enough,” Bernie said.  “You see, it wasn’t so hard, was it?  What say you finish the job now?  Off the girl, I’ll get someone to clean up the mess, and that’s a hundred grand you’ve made.”
I smiled.  “You think we’re all like you, don’t you?  Greedy for money and greedy to get even with anyone who ever crossed you.  Well, I’m not like that.  Even if I was, you’ve chosen the wrong victim for me.”
He threw the cigar on the concrete floor and ground it under his heel, sneering.
“Dear God, almighty.  Don’t tell me you’ve still got a soft spot for Annie.”
I shook my head pityingly.  “You don’t know as much as you think, Bernie.  Yes, Annie and I were together before she took up with Carl.  For a while, she was taken in by his flash ways.  By the time she wished she’d never got mixed up with him, she was his property.”
He looked unimpressed.  “So?”
“So when he was in jail one time, we had a bit of a thing.  We had to be careful, and it ended when he was coming out - too bloody risky by half.  About eight months later, I heard Annie had given birth to a daughter.”
Lisa was staring at me. 
“It was quick work, putting it mildly, although Annie and Carl said it was a premature birth,” I continued.  “She never spoke about it to me.  Still, I always wondered until today.”  I smiled at Lisa.  “Did you never wonder why both your parents were dark, and yet you got that shade of hair?”
She got up then, wearing the frown I had so often seen in my mirror, and she came up to me, reaching up to touch my own sandy hair.
“You think you’re my dad?”
I shrugged.  “It’s not like I’ve done DNA tests, but I’m pretty sure, now I’ve seen you.  Your looks, and your chippy attitude, are all your mother.  But some of your mannerisms, and that hair - I think you got them from me.” 
Bernie looked from me to Lisa and back again.  “Well, well.  Uncle Bernie sets up a family reunion.”  He attempted a laugh.  It rang hollow.  “This calls for a celebration.  I had no idea.  How could I know?”
But the blood in my veins had turned to hot ice.  “How indeed?  You’ve always said knowledge was power, Bernie.  I think you knew all right.  Your grapevine did its stuff and you stored the information away.”  I shook my head bitterly.  Was this the ultimate turn-on for you?  Make me kill my own daughter?  Were you going to tell me the truth afterwards?”
“Bastard,” snarled Billy.  I’d almost forgotten he was there.
“Look, old son.”  There was a decidedly nervous edge to Bernie’s voice now.  He spread his palms, and I could see his hands shaking.  “No hard feelings, eh?  I’ll give you the hundred grand, you can walk out of here with the girl, and I’ll get someone to get shot of these two clowns.  After all, they turned out to be lousy bodyguards, right?  Everything can be like it was before.  What do you say?”
I looked at the young woman I was sure was my daughter, who it would have amused him to see me gun down on his orders.  I looked at the two thugs who lay dead in their own blood because of him.  I looked back at my boss. 
“Please, Frankie,” he implored.  He was begging for mercy, like so many people I’d harmed on his orders.  I felt cold as a deep freeze.
“Sorry, Bernie,” I said, and shot him in the chest.  He looked surprised, moved his lips a couple of times, and then collapsed like a punctured balloon.
That left me, Lisa and Billy.  Billy raised his hands in surrender.  “Frankie - what have you done?”
My own hands were shaking now, but not as much as I might have expected.
Lisa stood mute beside me, staring at the carnage around her.
 “So what happens now?” she asked.  “I don’t imagine Mr Mack’s friends are going to be pleased with you.  Or with me, if they find out about this.”
“They won’t, though, will they, Frank?” Billy said, a catch in his voice.  He dropped to his knees.  “Just make it quick.”
“Get up, Billy” I said, disgusted.  “What are you doing?”
“You have to.  I’m a loose end.  A witness.  You’ve no chance of getting away with it if I’m left alive.”
I rolled my eyes.  “I doubt very much if anyone outside this place knew what he had in mind, let alone why.  Let’s just get out of here.  He had enough enemies.  No one’s going to think I did this.  Everyone knows I’m no killer.”
“Yeah,” Lisa said soberly, casting a squeamish glance about her.  “Right.  Anyone can see that.”
Billy didn’t look convinced.  “They’ll ask around.  They’ll ask me.  I’ll slip up.  I’m a lousy liar.”
He might be right, but in the last few minutes I’d done all the killing I ever intended to do in my lifetime.  “Get up, Billy.”
He rose on wobbly legs, looking relieved. 
I took aim and pulled the trigger.  He went down, roaring, clutching his leg.  Tears of pain were running down his cheeks.
“Sorry,” I said.  “Best try and be a better liar, Billy.  Tell them you were here with Bernie and the Chuckle Brothers when men in stocking masks burst in.  You were lucky to survive.”  He was still clutching his leg, biting his lip.  Sweat stood out on his forehead.  “And for God’s sake call an ambulance, or you’ll bleed to death.”

4

Billy proved a better liar than he thought, but his tale had unexpected consequences.  For some reason, someone in Bernie’s hierarchy got the idea that Carl Smith was responsible.  If I whispered the notion into certain ears, I’ll always deny it.  But Carl was stabbed through the heart whilst taking a shower a few weeks later.  The killer was never found.
 And me?  I’d like to say I went straight, married Annie, and that she, Lisa and I were living together like one happy family.  But that would be a lie.  Or at least an exaggeration.
Truth is, I’m still working for Bernie’s old mob, still hurting people, but maybe not for much longer.  There was a bit of a hiatus after Bernie’s death, some of it bloody, but like any firm life goes on, albeit under new management.  And the new guys have seen potential in me, it seems.  They’ve got me branching out into pen-pushing duties, and it turns out I’m good at it.  Soon someone younger and fitter will take over my enforcement role.
 As for Lisa, I gave her my number, but heard nothing from her for weeks.  Carl’s death and subsequent funeral came and went, and I was saddened that the daughter I’d found didn’t seem to want to know me.  Not that I could blame her, after the carnage she’d seen me wreak.  Just because it was to save her life, that didn’t make it any easier to handle.
Then one afternoon Annie phoned me out of the blue asking me to meet her for a drink.  Lisa was there too, and it sort of went on from there.  I don’t think widowhood caused Annie a single sleepless night, but she had goner through the motions of mourning for a respectable period.  I see them both a couple of times a week now.  Whether the happy family thing will ever happen, it’s too early to tell, but just having Annie back in my life and getting to know Lisa is enough for me.
The really funny thing is, I have Bernie and his sick, murderous plans to thank for the way life has changed for the better.  The old bastard did me an enormous favour, and I hope, wherever he is, he knows how spectacularly it backfired on him.
That should make his eternity just a little harder to bear.
 

 ©  Copyright Dave Sivers 2010