Free Justice for the Damned by Ben Cheetham

facing the Jag and flashed his lights, signalling Edward to come to him. As Edward got out of his car, Tyler pressed a button and a concealed electronic compartment in the dashboard whirred open. He removed a Glock 9mm and a small black cloth bag from it. Resting the gun on his thigh, he twisted in his seat so that his remaining eye faced the passenger door.
    Edward strode through the headlights like a man well aware of his place in the world – and that was a place which didn’t include being intimidated by employees, no matter what the nature of their job was. He yanked the passenger door open. ‘You’d better have a bloody good reason to—’ His voice caught in his throat at the sight of the Glock.
    ‘Get in and close the door.’
    ‘What is this?’ There was a tremor in the politician’s voice. His eyes darted between the gun and Tyler’s poker-faced gaze.
    ‘Get in and close the door.’ Tyler’s voice was as blank as his expression, yet there was a force behind it that caused Edward to do as he said. Tyler proffered the bag to his passenger. ‘Put it on your head.’
    ‘Now just hang on a bloody minute,’ said Edward, rediscovering some of his indignant courage. ‘I pay you, and pay you well. I know you’ve had a rough time these past few days, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit here and let you treat me like this.’
    A rough time? I’ve lost a fucking eye! Tyler shoved the thought away. To think like that was not only unprofessional – after all, as Edward had said, he was paid well to risk his skin – it was weak. And if there was one thing he hated it was weakness. ‘Please, sir, just do it,’ he said, realising he had to give the politician a token that his authority was, at least in some degree, still acknowledged. ‘It’s for your protection. It’ll be safer for you if you don’t see where we’re going.’
    Edward stared at Tyler, an uneasy, calculating glimmer in his deep-set brown eyes. ‘How long will this take?’
    ‘The sooner you do as I ask, the sooner you can get home to your bed.’
    ‘I wasn’t in bed.’ Edward took the bag and pulled it over his head. ‘OK, let’s bloody well get this over with.’
    Tyler slid the Glock into his jacket and reversed onto the road. Neither man spoke during the drive back to the farmhouse. As Tyler pulled up, the front door opened and Liam emerged, dragging Bryan Reynolds’s skinhead sidekick along the ground by his hands. ‘Wait here, and keep the bag on,’ Tyler said, jumping out of the car. A glance at the skinhead’s battered, blue-tinged face told him the man was dead.
    ‘I didn’t touch him,’ said Liam, his high-pitched voice sounding like a child pleading innocence. ‘He just died.’
    ‘Put him in the barn.’
    ‘That’s what I was doing.’
    Tyler took hold of Edward’s arm. The politician flinched as if he’d been prodded awake. ‘Can I take this thing off my head now?’
    ‘In a moment.’
    The moon had disappeared behind a cloud, shrouding the encircling hills and woods in impenetrable darkness. There was no way Edward would be able to identify his surroundings. But Tyler saw no reason to risk that he might get a glimpse of some stray detail that could help the police, or whoever, locate the farmhouse. He knew from experience that it was often the tiny details that were the difference between being caught or not. He drew Edward out of the vehicle and guided him towards the farmhouse. Once they were inside and the door was closed, he removed the bag.
    Edward’s eyes darted around, curious and nervous. Tyler headed towards the rear of the hallway. His tongue sliding dryly across his lips, Edward followed him to the interrogation room. Stan was in the process of securing Bryan to the chair. Bryan’s wrists had been cuffed to the chair’s arms, but the leather strap hadn’t yet been cranked tight around his chest. The instant he saw Edward, Bryan jerked halfway to his feet, his teeth gnashing against