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Blind Faith, Chapter 1 |
| Written by Philip Neale | |
| Sunday, 17 August 2008 | |
 The noise of the life support equipment was the only sound in the room. The steady ‘beep-bip, beep-bip' of the ECG monitor was the only assurance Brian Drake had that his wife Susie was hanging on in there, albeit kept alive by the myriad of tubes festooning her body. She lay in the Intensive Care Unit, where she had been for the past month or more, as still as death. There was nothing more that the medical staff could do, and it was only a question of time now before he would be faced with the emotionally catastrophic decision of when to turn off the machine. As he sat at Susie's side, where he had been continually for the entire period, he scanned her face for some small sign that she was coming back to him. The flicker of an eyelid, a twitch at the corner of her mouth, something, anything for Christ's sake....just something that would take away the responsibility for what he knew he was going to have to face.
The staff had been very good. He had a bed made up in the private room where she lay, and they'd looked in on the both of them at regular intervals. It seemed that he himself had become more of a focus of attention than Susie - they seemed to have given up on her. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten anything, and water was the only thing he felt able to keep down. His face had become quite haggard for a twenty-something young professional, and the growth of beard which had accumulated in the intervening time served only to accentuate the almost derelict appearance which his crumpled clothing leant itself to his form. It now seemed a lifetime ago that they were leaving the football match on that Tuesday night, both a little down after an F.A. Cup defeat to opposition from a division lower; his head dropped into his hands, and not for the first time sobs racked his body. Tears fell like rain on to the tiled floor as he fought to regain control of rapidly deteriorating senses.
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They had both been in witness protection after walking in on some kind of punishment killing in what had become the gun capital of Great Britain. Nottingham's Meadows and St Anne's areas were run by rival gangs constantly involved in turf wars. Narcotics had served only to increase the intensity of the conflicts as each sought to muscle the other out of the more profitable territories. Guns and knives were freely available to those wishing to use them, and the incident in question had been one of sickening brutality.
The old area of Arkwright Street had been demolished in the late 1960s and early 1970s to be replaced by a patchwork of maisonettes. Old slums had been replaced by modern ones littered with little back alleys and cul-de-sacs ideal for drug dealers to peddle their wares. It was within this maze that, as strangers to the city, they had become lost when noises around a corner stopped them in their tracks. The unmistakeable sound of a hard object meeting flesh, and the agonised cries of the recipient echoed around the immediate area, and curtains twitched as they were pulled tight shut by residents too scared to take a look outside.
Brian and Susie saw what was happening from the shadows cast by a low streetlight. Their dark clothing made them all but invisible, and with bated breath they awaited the end of the beating and the disappearance of its perpetrator. Then they would be able to move on once more, possibly pausing to summon the help of an emergency vehicle. What neither of them were prepared for was the stomach-churning finale to what had been a truly ferocious attack. The young man stood back from his now kneeling victim and removed the knuckle dusters from his hands.The sight of a battered face loomed out of the night, half lit by the very same street light which was acting as Brian and Susie's own protector. From deep within the folds of his coat, the assailant produced a hand gun, cocked the hammer and pointed it directly into the other's face. A laugh of demonic quality bounced around the neighbouring buildings as the kneeling figure held hands out in supplication, begging for his life. Brian had never heard gunfire before, and both he and Susie recoiled into a wall as a single bullet destroyed the face of the victim. There was blood and brain matter everywhere and as the gunman turned to leave, his features came out of the darkness in sharp relief - it was a face which neither of them would ever forget.
Frozen with fear and ears ringing with the gunfire, Brian and Susie cowered in the shadows which were their saviour on that night. Neither had the wish to investigate any further, assuming quite rightly that the victim was dead. After what seemed an age they made their way quickly and quietly through the maze of alleyways and on to the top of Crocus Street within clear sight of the city's Midland Station. Back in the relative safety of well-lit streets Brian made a brief ‘999' call from his mobile phone, giving details of the body's location before they boarded the last tram back to the Phoenix Centre and the escape route which their parked car would provide.
Until now, neither had spoken about the incident which they had witnessed, but locked in the metal cocoon which the BMW provided, Susie broke the silence.
"What now? I mean that man was murdered and we saw it happen. We have to do something."
"We did Suze. The police will be there now. It's up to them to sort it out. We don't know what was going on, and I don't fancy sticking my neck out."
"But that was, what.................? An execution Brian. We can't leave it at that. We witnessed an execution."
"Leave it love, please. You know what these places are like - it's on our local news at home regularly. These people don't take prisoners. We'll be in danger if anyone finds out what we saw tonight."
Susie saw the futility of arguing with him right now. He was scared; God she was scared. Back at home later that night, and with several whiskies inside him, Brian was even more determined not to become involved in what was clearly a gang-related shooting, and they locked up and went to bed. The next morning he had almost convinced himself that it had all been a horrific nightmare, when the BBC News 24 channel carried a report on the incident. What made him recoil in horror was the fact that information had been released relating to his call to the emergency services. The killers would now know that there had been at least one witness to the murder....................... Copyright 2008 Philip Neale |
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