Page 62 of Savage Protector

“You bastard! You’ll?—”

“Okay. Enough now.” I twist the ends of the cord together behind his neck and wind it around my fists.

His eyes roll. More blood gurgles from his ruined mouth. He jerks, instinctively, trying to get his hands up and under the cord, but the cable ties do their job.

I twist again, and the cord forces a deep valley in his scrawny neck. He’s losing consciousness already. I wrench the cord around for one final squeeze, then hold it there and I wait.

Mehrban’s rigid body is suddenly still and floppy, his head lolling to one side.

I remain in position for a couple more minutes, just to make sure, then release my death grip. Apart from a few splotches of blood and snot on the floor, there’s little in the way of mess to clear up, and Rome is already on it. It won’t be a thorough clean, we don’t have the time for that. There’ll be plenty in the way of forensics if anyone should see fit to look, but we won’t be leaving an obvious crime scene behind.

The brothers will simply ‘disappear’, and the salon won’t be implicated at all.

Iftikar has come round now. The commotion, probably, but he’s staring at me, wide-eyed. His gaze swivels from his dead brother to the cord dangling from my right hand and back again. His mouth works silently.

I smile at him. “You’ll have worked out how this goes,” I observe. “Like your brother, I’ll make this as quick as I can. Oh. Oh dear…” I frown at the dark stain spreading across the front of his crotch. “That’s unfortunate. Pass me a towel, Nico.”

I spread the fluffy material around the chair to prevent mess on the floor. We can burn it later. We’ll have to wipe down the leather of the chair seat, but there are handy anti-bacterial wipes on a shelf behind our guest, so we’ll be fine.

I move into position and wait while Iftikar exhausts the usual routine of struggling and pleading. At an impatient gesture from Tony, I wrap the cord around his neck and pull it tight.

“Bye-bye, Ifty.” I twist it around my hands and wait for him to cease his wriggling.

Iftikar puts up a better fight than his brother did, but it was futile from the start. I release him when it’s all over and check that he’s properly disposed of before slicing through the cable ties and pocketing the remnants.

“I’ll clean the chair if you guys can get him out of here.”

Nico and Rome hoist Iftikar’s lifeless body from the chair and, one at his ankles, the other holding his wrists, they haul him out through the back.

I deal with the piss-stained leather seat quickly, just as Tony finishes cutting Mehrban free. Together, we drag him out to the car and throw him in the boot with his brother and the soiled towel. “I’ll just go back and make sure everything’s tidy.”

Back in the salon, I cast an eye over the room. The sinks are emptied and wiped dry, the chairs are neatly back in their places, the floor is free of stains, and no splatters have reached the walls anyway. It all looks as normal as I can make it. I take Mehrban’s jacket from the hook in the back room. His keys and phone are still on the shelf where I left them, so I check that his car keys are on the bunch, then pocket them all. I finally check the rear door. I glance out into the backstreet where the car is waiting for me. Tony winds down the window.

“I need to set the alarm,” I call. “I’ll see you in the next street.” No point getting our car clocked by any CCTV.

He nods and gets into the driver’s seat. The engine starts up, and he cruises off.

I bolt the door and use Mehrban’s keys to fasten the security lock. Back in the salon, I cast one final look around and find nothing obviously out of place. I unlock the front door, pick up Mehrban’s jacket, and pull it on over my own, then I set the alarm. The warning beeping starts up. I slip out and close the door behind me, then lock it from outside. The beeping stops, for all the world as though Mehrban simply locked up as usual and left. If anyone checks they’ll see him leave–or his jacket, at least. They’ll find his car still parked along the road, but they’ll assume he left on foot. For a while, anyway.

I stroll to the end of the road, turn right, then left. Tony glides to a halt beside me and throws open the passenger door. I hop in, and we’re away.

“I arranged for the cleaners to meet us in Finlaystone Country Park in an hour,” Tony tells me. “Should be about right for time.”

I agree. If Abdul sticks to his usual routine, he’ll be passing through the county park on his way to Pru’s excellent establishment in around an hour and ten minutes.

There’s little in the way of conversation as we drive to the rendezvous point. Each of us knows his job, we just need to orchestrate our efforts and make sure nothing goes wrong. For now, we concentrate.

There are two vehicles waiting for us in a lay-by in the forest when we arrive fifty-five minutes later, a Transit van and a breakdown truck. Tony parks up in front of the convoy. He and I get out.

We’re met by two men. Handshakes are exchanged, then we all get down to the business.

“He should be passing here in around fifteen minutes,” I tell our companions. “Did you bring the stinger and the rest of the kit?”

“Certainly did,” Harry replies with a cheery grin. “Albie here will get it set up when we’re ready. Joey is stationed a mile down the road, and he’ll give us the heads-up.”

We’ll need to time it well and rely on a degree of luck. Ideally, we need the road to be clear but for our target, but failing that, both Harry and Albie are dressed in police uniforms intended to deter unwelcome questioning by any potential witnesses. Hopefully, they’ll think we’re simply apprehending a drunk driver or similar.”

“Okay,” Tony says. “You stop the car, then dispose of it afterwards. We’ll do the rest. The other two are in the boot.”

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