Chapter 1
Beethoven no. 5. Arguably the world’s most famous symphony. It was the perfect soundtrack to the night's mission. Maddox waited with a straight back. In honour of Beethoven he would not slouch while listening to a master of musical art. The street was empty, no loiterers at the corners or dog walkers being tugged up the paths. His car was parked at the perfect junction, a crossroads where Ian would have to pass.
Da-da-da-Dum... Never had the dumb been more relevant to the situation. Ian the idiot, as Maddox would fondly remember him, believed he had deceived and lied himself to freedom.
No chance. Maddox would not allow that traitor and liar to slip through his grasp. There was only one outcome for Ian’s betrayal and he wanted to be the one to dispatch him.
Rain sprinkled the windscreen, a gentle pitter-patter that complemented the music. The interior of the car was matte leather, moody and sinister, just how Maddox liked it. The windows were blacked out, concealing his and the driver’s identities.
The sky outside the window was grey, understated in colour. A century ago photographs had all been black and white, grey the canvas, filling the void of true colour. In present day, grey was eyed with distaste, grimaced at, but Maddox saw the beauty in it, dark and light, good and evil. Grey was the middle area, the space in-between. He was the grey.
The symphony blaring from the stereo shook the seats, Maddox’s thighs tingled with the vibrations. He let the music build and consume him, mentally and physically. The strings of the piece danced with rhythm, building to the dramatic middle of the first movement. Commonly known as the victory symphony. It was going to be, but a hollow one. Killing one of his own was never pleasant, but he needed to re-establish order, prove he was the dog who still had his savage bite.
His forefinger pressed firmly on the switch, the blackened window slowly lowered. He made sure it was in time with the music, not a quick whirling sound, but a slow, dramatic descent to expose him to the elements.
Rain licked at his face, and he shut his eyes, relished in the feeling of being cleansed by the downpour. The smell of damp pavement filled the car, and he breathed in deep. There was no smell quite like rain on hot pavement.
He had chosen the music to suit the moment. The interior of the car had its lights dimmed. The sky, as if syncing with his mind, was dull with swirls of grey cloud and the rain, unscheduled for that evening, kept on pouring. A film noir that needed the backing track of the master of classical music. It was after all, a sombre day, one filled with regret and unease. He was already mourning Ian’s death, had dressed in a pristine suit in honour of it. He had killed those close to him before, when he was younger, out to make a name for himself, but sat at the top of the hierarchy, he never thought he’d do it again.
The music picked up pace, and he pushed Ian from his mind. The gun in his hand, he waved like a conductor’s baton, imagining he was controlling his own orchestra.
Tom, his driver, had a stern face and Freddie Mercury hair. The dark strands on his head and his furry top lip were coal black and his face was rounded. As Maddox gazed at the unaware man in the mirror, he decided he would be a good fit for playing the French horn.
Amber was in pursuit of Ian, driving him forward, not letting him think for too long. She would be a violinist, her relentless chasing, her powerful aura. Beautiful and delicate but efficient. Maddox smirked, imagining her fierce red hair flicking back and forth as she battled the violin harder and harder to make it play her tune.
Carl, Carl was absent from proceedings. Maddox kept him around for fun, he was chirpy and irritated the other two. He was entertaining, a puppy that kept bouncing back after getting scowled at. Trumpet, Maddox decided, cheerful and eager, not as blunt as the horn or as fast paced as the violin.
He had his horn player and violinist with him, but was down his chirpy trumpet.
Maddox wasn’t a cruel boss, Carl had the night off, was taking his mother out for her birthday. Those moments with family wouldn’t be missed if Maddox could help it. He was positive Amber, Tom and himself could handle Ian the idiot.
“Sir, he’s coming this way.”
Maddox didn’t reply, made no movement whatsoever to show he heard. Tom knew better than to repeat himself. There was nothing duller in life than one repeating themselves, the repetitiveness of people ached his brain.
Maddox hummed along to the music, eyes snapping to the car that came into focus. Its wheels screeched, its engine roared and in that moment Maddox hated the car more than Ian inside it. It was ruining the exhilarating music, and no one should dare destroy a priceless symphony.
“Turn it up,” he mumbled to Tom, and the man in the front scrambled to do so. Beethoven echoed off the surrounded houses, shook the wound down window pane. No doubt the sound would draw attention, but the moment would be over in a heartbeat.
He aimed his gun. The car got nearer, louder and Maddox grit his teeth. Ian still mocked him, tried to drown out Beethoven from his ears. He pointed the gun at the approaching windscreen. It was steady in his grip, an extension of his body. No nerves rattled him, he was the master of a one-shot and wouldn’t miss. His heart slowed, his vision narrowed to the only place of significance. Ian needed to die.
The music ramped up, he hoped Ian heard it, the last thing before death. Ian had always favoured headache inducing club music, but in the final seconds of his life he would be introduced to the true beauty of sound, if only for a nanosecond.
Maddox pressed his lips together and pulled the trigger. A high-pitched whistle rather than a bombing shot rang out and the night's mission was done.
He had hit the mark, he always did, and the music from the radio ceased the instant the shot sounded. Tom knew it was the moment to stop Beethoven, the climax was almost there, but the last notes weren’t to be from him, but the crunch of metal, the smashing and clashing of a twisted car.
Maddox breathed deep in the silence, eyes shutting in anticipation of the crash. The cars usually spun out of control, collided with a tree, lamp post or parked vehicle and then that was it. Whoever needed to die had died.
Ian had betrayed him, stolen something for his own gain, was taking it to a rival. He deserved a painful death, but Maddox allowed him a quick one. It served as a warning as much as justice. Maddox would not tolerate betrayals.
Glass splitting, the sudden folding of the bonnet, the wet slurp of a compressed body. The sounds never came. For the first time in forever, he held his breath without hearing the sound cue to exhale. His eyes snapped open, and his head whipped to the unopen window on his right.
He glared at the fading headlights of Ian’s car with his heart quickening. It had kept going, kept roaring down the road undeterred by the bullet that had sailed towards it.
He never missed, but the evidence of him doing so mocked him. Ian kept driving, leaving him to flail in shock behind.
Maddox eyed the gun in his hand. There was a tremor. Goosebumps ran from his wrist to his neck. Missing had been unexpected, uncharacteristic, and it reawakened his senses. How had he missed? He never missed.
“Sir-”
“Follow him,” he yelled, snapping his teeth with the words.
He dropped the gun next to him, hands tightening on the driver and passenger seat as he hauled himself forward. “I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
The car choked into life. Tom darted a fearful look his way, but Maddox ignored it in favour of staring fire at the car vanishing from view. It had been years since he had taken up the seat beside Tom, years since he had exposed himself on the passenger seat instead of keeping hidden on the back one. He flicked his head at Tom and the other man relaxed into the chase. The wheels of the car mounted the curb on a particularly sharp corner and Maddox hissed, digging his fingers into the leather of the seat.
The route was erratic, the streets the car flew down were not ones Maddox was familiar with, not ones Ian was familiar with either, but he drove them like a pro. Tom’s jaw unhinged, curses escaped, wondrous in tone, but Maddox only snarled, curling his lip back as Ian continued to laugh at his expense.
The second impossibility happened; Tom failed in his pursuit. After a near miss with a lorry, and the car stalling, they were unable to catch Ian and he vanished. The ever-predictable Ian was doing the unthinkable, he was being unpredictable, and had used a maze of streets to escape.
Tom slowed the car to a stop on the curb. The blacked-out window put emphasis on his pale complexion, and even his lips had blanched.
“’m sorry sir.”
Maddox grasped Tom’s shoulder, his jaw immediately snapped shut with a click. Tom may have lost him, but it was Maddox that had missed the shot. They were both at fault.
“I have a tracker on his car,” he muttered, “I’ll direct you.”
Tom bobbed his head and awaited instructions. Maddox stabbed at his phone and a map with a static dot filled the screen. Ian had ditched the car, of course he had. Ian the idiot was using brainpower Maddox didn’t even know he possessed. The unthinkable was happening, Ian had gotten away with his betrayal.
Maddox’s deep voice boomed the way. Tom shifted at his proximity and savage tone, face whitening as he drove the route. Maddox terrified his own men, especially when they thought he was angry. Mad Dog Maddox people called him. He instilled fear in his rivals with his brutal and relentless nature. His own men respected the legend, didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his cruelness. Most of it was exaggerated. Age had taken away his ruthlessness, and he no longer had to prove himself. Older, sombre, but the power of his previous self was enough to keep the jackals at bay. Ian, he was the tipping point. He had the potential to open a flood gate of problems. If someone like Ian could trick him so easily, others would try their luck.
When Tom spotted the abandoned car he sagged in relief, relaxing further when Maddox pulsed his fingers on his shoulder. “Good work.”
Tom crawled the car to a stop, but Maddox didn’t wait, he ignored the call of alarm from behind and sprung from the car.
The driver’s door hung open and he rushed towards it, needing to glare at his failure. See the empty seat and the botched hole in the windscreen.
“Boss!”
Tom’s feet thumped heavily on the ground, skidding to a stop beside Maddox. His gun was drawn, pointing at the man in the car.
Ian was stooping in his seat, head bowed forward. Maddox gripped his hair and lifted his head. His eyes were closed, his jaw hung open. The bullet wound was no bigger than a penny, dead centre on Ian’s forehead, a kill shot. Blood had seeped into his hair, not obvious at first sight, but it dribbled down the raven strands, streaking his porcelain skin. Maddox threw the head forward, needing to see the back. The gory exit wound that would prove Ian died in an instant. Tom stumbled back covering his mouth, and Maddox darted him a studious look. Tom’s weakness wasn’t the sight of brains, nor the flow of blood, he despised the smell of it.
Maddox sighed, and released the body. The light from Ian had long gone, at Maddox's hand just like he'd planned, but the mystery remained. The car had kept going.
Amber pulled up beside them, climbing out and fixing her attentive gaze on her boss.
He waved her focus off and she moved towards Tom, asking what happened as quietly as she could.
Their voices hissed behind him, back and forth while Maddox checked the car for clues.
“The case is gone,” he said, loud enough for the two to hear.
When he turned he noted the worry in their mannerisms, their pale flesh and sunken eyes. Amber had her head bowed, fiery hair concealing part of her face. When Maddox moved his feet, her head tilted to follow, she focussed on them in a submissive gesture.
Tom stood with his eyes glued to Ian's body, his throat bobbed uncomfortably, and he paled a few shades as he waited for what was to come. They were expecting punishment. The pincer movement to draw Ian into the line of fire had failed, but not at the fault of Amber or Tom.
“Find the case,” he muttered to Amber.
She nodded eagerly before returning to her car in a flurry of movement. She had been dismissed, but Tom still hovered waiting for his orders.
“Get someone to dispose of this.”
He gestured to Ian’s car and his body inside it.
Tom nodded, delving in his pocket and prodding his phone to arrange a discreet pick up of the car and corpse.
Ian was dead, but someone else had stolen the case. Someone Maddox hadn’t considered, someone he hadn’t predicted.
The tedious mission to reclaim his property had just got interesting.