The Stealers Read online

  Bradley felt more exposed away from the crowds as he strode between rows of tall buildings and shops in Alexander Street and he began to quicken his pace towards the Westcliff area. Crane also speeded up. It was his guess that, wherever Bradley was staying, the Mustang would be nearby. It was Crane’s intention to discover this before calling in the police but he had to make sure.

  Crane was trailing behind Bradley at about seventy-five metres when, in the dim street lights, he saw a woman suddenly appear from one of the houses. After a few paces a man appeared to join her and they walked side by side for a while until suddenly they both disappeared from view. Crane took little notice of this; his mind was focused on the man who was ahead of them – Bradley.

  A few cars continued to pass by, illuminating the road ahead, but one particular vehicle began to slow down and Bradley, clearly in view of the car’s headlamps, raised his arm – it was a cab. Crane swore under his breath. The vehicle was too far away for him to identify and he immediately quickened his pace. He hoped, at the very least, to see where it would turn off. It was too late. The cab pulled away smartly and faded into a light ground mist at the end of the lengthy road. It could have gone anywhere. He slowed his pace when he came near to the spot, a smooth grassy area, where he had seen the couple together. They had vanished but suddenly he heard stifled breathing. Pausing, he stepped back a few paces. In the dim street lights he could see the couple again. They were still on the ground but it appeared to Crane that the woman’s arms were being held behind her back.

  The man, his face in the shadows, leant forward and looked up towards Crane and grunted irritably, ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Nothing, I just wondered if everything was alright.’

  ‘Yeah, why shouldn’t it be?’ And shaking the woman, he said, ‘Tell him it’s alright, dear.’

  The woman winced slightly as she said, ‘Yeah, yeah, it’s alright.’

  But in the dim light Crane saw abject fear in her eyes and he knew that she was not alright and was saying this under duress.

  Crane stood for a moment pondering his next move, however a prompt for him to act, was provided by the man as he replied irritably, ‘There! You’ve got your answer, now fuck off!’

  The woman remained quiet but her eyes were watery and silently pleading, “Please don’t leave me.”

  Crane remained still and said, ‘You got a mobile?’ Because you’ll need to call an ambulance.’

  The man’s face emerged from the shadow again, ‘What? What the fuck for?’

  ‘Because nobody talks to me like that, especially a little shit head like you.’

  The provocation worked. The man let go of the woman, sprang to his feet and with clenched fists moved quickly towards Crane saying, ‘You’re the one that’s gonna need an ambulance.’

  Crane side-stepped the lunge and, grabbing hold of the assailant’s arm, swung him around violently then kneed him in the groin. As the attacker began to double up, Crane, still gripping his arm, forced him back upright again and brought the bully’s elbow down heavily across his knee. ‘Now you can call the ambulance. You need to get your arm re-set.’

  The young woman struggled up. She was shaking nervously as she edged past the groaning man lying on the ground. She mumbled stifled thanks to Crane and said uncertainly, ‘Please, can I walk to the end of the road with you?’

  ‘Yes of course. You got far to go?’

  ‘Not really, about fifteen minutes or so.’

  ‘Okay, you look a bit shaken up, I’ll see you back.’

  ‘That’s so kind of you, I hope I’m not putting you out.’

  Crane was resigned to having lost Bradley and replied gently, ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘I’ve never seen that man before in my life. I only just left my friend’s house when he seemed to appear from nowhere.’

  Crane was frustrated at losing Bradley, but it was not her fault and he felt it appropriate to accompany her to where she lived. Within fifteen minutes, the woman seemed to be regaining her confidence and became quite talkative, until she stopped momentarily outside a large building. Crane looked up at the green fluorescent sign above the entrance; “Kent View Hotel”. ‘This is where I work and live,’ she said. ‘It’s handy having a job with accommodation. You meet all kinds of people. A man came in earlier today; he had a beautiful American car that he kept going to look at.’

  Most of her chattiness had passed over Crane’s head, but now she had his full undivided attention.

  ‘American car? What sort, erm, make?’

  ‘I don’t know; it was one of those with the top that comes down; a convertible, that’s it. I saw it in the car park late this afternoon; a lovely red colour.’

  Crane felt a surge of elation and said, ‘Any idea of the man’s name?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t on reception then.’

  Not wishing to probe further, Crane checked his watch and said, ‘Well I must go. Take care.’

  The young woman thanked him profusely once more, before she traipsed up a set of broad paved steps and then disappeared through the hotel’s plush main entrance.

  Within seconds, Crane darted round to the Kent View Hotel car park. It was dimly lit, but there was no mistaking what he saw. Tucked away in a dark shadowy corner, was his Mustang. He walked over and stood in front of the car, transfixed for a moment and not believing his luck. It was all the confirmation that he needed and he could now inform Harris of Bradley’s whereabouts. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out the police mobile and switched it on, but when he heard a ground floor sash window being raised, he promptly put the instrument back into his pocket. Quickly and silently he shrank into the shadows of an overhanging tree. Apart from the gentle rattle of leaves, all was quiet for a brief moment. He stood listening, like a wild animal that has just sensed danger. Suddenly, his ears picked up the sound of footfalls treading on the car park’s loose gravel surface. They were heading towards the Mustang.

  In spite of the poor lighting, the outline was unmistakable. Bradley was carrying a holdall and there was what appeared to be a handgun, dangling from his other hand. It seemed as though he was about to do a moonlight flit. Crane eased the handgun from his jacket pocket and waited until he heard the audible metallic click of the car door being unlocked. Moving from the shadows he pointed the weapon at Bradley, ‘That’s as far as you go.’

  Bradley found it difficult to hide his surprise and hesitated before he replied, ‘Well, well, quite the resourceful adversary, aren’t you, Crane?’

  Crane stepped towards him, but without hesitation, Bradley threw the holdall violently towards Crane’s gun and it clattered noisily to the ground. In the same instant, Bradley whipped up the silenced handgun and fired two rounds in quick succession towards Crane’s vague outline. Crane was just as fast and, by then, he had scooped up the holdall then hurled it back with all his strength. Bradley’s two bullets thudded harmlessly into the airborne bag, but the spent ammo did nothing to stop the bag from disarming Bradley as it crashed into him.

  Both men were no more than four metres apart as they scrabbled on the ground, looking for their weapons, but to no avail. Their guns were swallowed up by the shadows.

  Instinct took over Bradley. Like a greyhound he leapt up and ran towards the car park exit. Crane followed in hot pursuit. As he ran, Bradley unsheathed the long knife that was hanging from his belt. Within seconds he turned the corner of the building and unseen, flattened his body against the wall in a crouching position. He held the knife in a vice like grip, ready to lunge upwards into Crane’s stomach as he passed. Crane turned the corner slightly wide and almost ran onto the blade. As he dodged out of the way, the knife’s razor-sharp edge sliced through his trousers and slashed the top of his thigh, sending him careering sideways. Still gripping the knife Bradley leapt up and ran off, satisfied that he had at least done some damage, enabling him to put more distance between them.

  Crane felt a warm trickle of blood running down his leg, but it only s
trengthened his resolve of getting Bradley once and for all. The clouds began to lift, revealing a bright vanilla moon. The moon outlined the retreating figure of Bradley, as he darted along the road at a high point overlooking the Thames Estuary. He disappeared behind a tall building; the Cliffs Pavilion, a local theatre. Crane followed and approached the Pavilion on the opposite side. He paused at the rear of the edifice and listened. A noise told him that Bradley was descending on the opposite side. Crane began to ease himself down the steep slope, but after a few steps he lost his footing on the dew-sodden surface and slid noiselessly down the grassy bank. He sat for a moment, eyes straining in the poor light. A pearly grey mist hugged the ground and the wet grass began to soak through his trousers. He got up carefully in time to see the outline of Bradley, some twenty-five metres opposite, carefully picking his way through the undergrowth of the incline.

  Crane, ignoring the discomfort in his leg, made his way painfully to the road at the bottom of the slope. A crack of dawn, aided by a full moon, in a cloudless sky acted like a beacon. He stepped onto the pavement just in time to see Bradley, on the opposite side of the dual carriageway, clamber over the barrier and out of sight onto the beach.

  By now the wound on Crane’s leg was beginning to feel sore and throbbed as he hobbled across the road in pursuit, but as he approached the barrier, instead of leaping over, he peered cautiously over the top. He saw Bradley leaning against the wall, puffing and panting, gulping in lungfuls of air. It was getting lighter by the minute and Bradley’s sinister-looking figure was no longer an outline. He looked up and caught sight of Crane, ‘Nobody gets the better of me,’ he spat breathlessly.

  Crane was little better off. Blood from the wound on his leg had saturated his right trouser leg and he was beginning to feel weak. He straightened up and, in an effort to close the wound, he pulled the belt off from around his waist and strapped it tightly around the blood soaked thigh. He leaned on the barrier and looked out across the dawn-streaked Thames Estuary. He could see the tide coming in. He calculated that Bradley would have to get off the beach and back onto the pavement, within fifteen minutes or so, before the waves would start to lap around him. However, Bradley also realised this and decided to move nearer towards some steps. As he did so, he saw Crane binding his bloodied leg and grinned wolfishly as he clambered up onto the pavement. Crane’s eyes followed Bradley’s stealthy movements. Bradley mistook Crane’s look of anticipation as a look of fear.

  Crane was standing quite still. Confidence streamed through Bradley’s body when he recognised a distinct advantage and moved predator-like towards Crane, as a jackal would advance upon a wounded animal. With eyes glowering hatred, he inched towards the immobile Crane. Slowly at first, in a semi-crouched position and then, when Crane didn’t move, he quickened his pace until suddenly he charged forward like a madman. With his arm outstretched, holding the knife like a sword, he screamed out loud like a banshee, ‘Nobody gets the better of me!’

  In the distance blue flashing lights competed with the oncoming dawn and high-pitched sirens shattered the tranquillity of the shoreline. Approaching from above, the flutter of helicopter rotors added to the cacophony of noise, but neither man seemed aware of this.

  Crane knew he was in no fit state to waste energy. Timing was all important. When Bradley’s deadly blade was within inches, Crane turned, like a bullfighter, swivelling on his good leg. Crane felt Bradley’s foul, hot panting breath as he swept past, blind with rage and stabbing viciously at the air with his razor-sharp knife. But within four strides, Bradley stopped dead and spun round. Without hesitation he made for his quarry once more, and like a panther in for the kill, leapt towards the immobile Crane. However, Crane’s eyes had gauged every movement and his brain was fully alert to Bradley’s incensed assault. In the last split second, Crane moved imperceptibly like a flash of light. His body twisted skilfully to one side as he flicked his foot out like a switch blade. Bradley tripped and faltered as he scraped past. Crane spun on his heel and pushed hard with both hands against Bradley’s shoulders as he teetered forward, causing him to fall heavily to the ground. He lay there briefly before trying to get up. Accusing eyes stared up at Crane, but the fire had gone out of them as he gasped and cursed trying to get up. He lay flat on his back. His body quivered slightly as he tried to rise once more, but with a gasp, he slumped back down. He appeared to be stuck to the ground. From where he lay Bradley turned his head and looked around, as though trying to focus his eyes. His face, twisted in agony, was like a grotesque mask as he looked up scathingly at Crane.

  Crane shuffled cautiously towards him and he could see that Bradley’s hand no longer held the knife; only its hilt was visible through his open jacket. Bradley had impaled himself and now he groaned as he lay dying.

  Crane stood for a while transfixed, staring down irreverently at the man behind so much evil, and he stayed until Bradley exhaled a final breath of air. Blue flashing lights suddenly appeared at the kerbside. Harris leapt out of a police car with Daniella following close behind. Harris strode hurriedly towards Crane and, when he noticed Crane’s blood-drenched trouser leg, the officer barked orders into his mobile demanding an ambulance.

  Harris stood with Crane as they looked down at the lifeless form of Bradley. Harris broke the silence with, ‘Is he… dead?’

  Through a sigh of exhaustion Crane replied, ‘As mutton,’ and he dipped a hand into his pocket and produced the police mobile. Harris palmed it and said, ‘Good job you had it switched on. It took us a while to trace you.’

  Daniella rushed up to Crane’s side put an arm around his waist and with a sigh, breathed out an, ‘It’s over.’

  *

  A few stitches later, Crane was back in his cottage with Daniella and his cherished Mustang. Within a week, Crane and Daniella attended Penny and Girard’s wedding, held at St Peters Church in Ashingdon. The Frenchman looked very much at home as he posed with his beautiful wife and little Andrew in tow, for photographs to be taken in front of the small unimposing building set on a hill overlooking the River Crouch. Just like King Canute and his Vikings, who built the little church in the far distant past, Girard was very pleased with his conquest and was sure they would lead an interesting life in the vicinity for many years to come.

  After the wedding, Crane took Daniella to Southend Airport for her flight home to Romania. ‘I can’t say my stay with you has been uninteresting, but please, next time… ’

  Crane grinned hugely as he looked at her attractive smiling face and interrupted with, ‘There’s going to be a next time?’

  ‘Oh yes, you’d better believe it! Next time I’m planning to find work in your country. I could end up being your local doctor and maybe have you all to myself.’

  ‘You’re not put off with all this erm… ?’

  ‘No! Only the next time we meet and it will be very soon, perhaps things will be a little less, erm… less life threatening? Is that the correct expression?’

  Author’s Note

  During my years as a motorhome dealer, I had six vehicles stolen. After each theft I tightened the security until there were no further thefts. Nowadays keys are all important, but if someone is determined to steal a vehicle, they will. Trackers are an excellent device in helping to recover stolen vehicles, but are expensive and the time in reporting the theft is crucial. If you are away and you are unaware that your vehicle has been taken, it would leave the thieves plenty of time to locate and remove the tracker.

  There is only one device I know of that would inhibit theft; lockable tyre deflators. A minimum of two would be sufficient. They are inexpensive and once locked in position, they will deflate a tyre in less than half a mile. No thief would want to bother changing a wheel – let alone two or more – on a hot vehicle.

  I actually came across such a Rover 620 as mentioned in the story; I took it in part exchange. When I sold it, my regrets were allowing a prospective buyer to take the wheel. I did not realise how he would drive and had to remind
him to ‘take it easy’. The dents from my feet may still be in the carpet – if not the floor-pan. Secondly, I should have kept a copy of the glossy motoring magazine article referring to this awesome beast.