Read Online Black & Blue: Where it all began…… (D.S Hunter Kerr) by Michael Fowler - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Fowler
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position. Taking another deep breath, he dashed forward and grabbed at the door handle, giving it a yank. But the door didn’t open. The locks were down and Hunter lost his grip. Peter Jackson was awake in a flash and reaching for the dashboard.
In an instant Hunter realised why. A knife was parked just above the steering wheel.
Peter snatched it up and thrust it towards him.
The blade shot through the half open window and thanks to his swift footwork missed Hunter by a few inches. His stomach instantly turned-turtle and without hesitation he yelled back over his shoulder “Harry, he’s got a knife.” Instinctively, taking on a defensive pose, he took a gulp and said, “Just calm down Peter. There’s no need for this.”
“You’re not taking me in,” Jackson shouted, waving the menacing steel at Hunter.
Hunter drew back his arms. “Come on don’t be stupid Peter, this is only gonna make things worse.”
“Back off copper.”
Hunter’s brain was whirling. He locked onto Jackson’s cold bloodied glare. Licking dry lips he said, “Come on be sensible. We can get this sorted out. Kim’s gonna be all right. Just give me the knife and we can forget this ever happened.” He edged one hand forward.
“Fuck off with the bullshit.”
“I’m not bullshitting Peter. There’s only me and you here. Give me the knife and I’ll say you came quietly.”
Hunter saw Jackson’s face change. The hard granite stare became a blank look. He took a step nearer.
In that instant Peter catapulted himself forwards and with a whiplash movement swung out his arm. The knife he’d been clutching whizzed through the gap in the driver’s window.
Hunter tried to react, but he had hardly turned before the blade hit him in the chest. Instinctively he staggered back and let out a gasp.
“You’re fucking lying,” Peter screamed and fired the Bluebird’s engine.
Clawing at his chest, Hunter felt the knife brush the front of his top coat as it fell towards the floor. His eyes snapped down to where the blade had hit and he heaved out a huge sigh as he realised it had struck his radio. He snatched up his eyes again at the sound of grit and gravel being churned up. The Bluebird’s wheels were spinning as it lurched forward.
For a split-second Hunter had to catch himself. His legs momentarily turning to jelly, but then his thoughts were back to the moment and he became conscious of the CID car tearing towards him. The passenger door swung open as it slowed alongside and Hunter leapt into the front seat, scrambling around for the seatbelt. In front, through a veil of coal dust and dirt he could make out Peter Jackson’s Bluebird snaking haphazardly towards the exit gates. He snatched up the car radio to broadcast their pursuit. But before he had even begun to speak, ahead, he saw the red car swerving violently. For a second he watched it slide sideways and then the rear end started to buck. Hunter could hear the Nissan’s engine scream as an uncontrollable spin followed. Seconds later it smashed into the metal gates, sending fragments of rusting steel every which way, as it careered through the gap and impacted into a grass bank. There was an almighty thump as the Bluebird bounced upwards, spun one-hundred-and eighty-degrees in the air before coming back to land on its roof with a sickening crunch.
The CID slew ed to a halt yards from the crash and before Harry had even applied the handbrake Hunter was throwing open the passenger door and scrambling from his seat.
As Hunter approached the upturned Nissan he could hear Peter Jackson screaming. The sound reminded him of the time, as a young teenager, he had watched pigs being corralled into a slaughterhouse.
The upside down car was steaming. The roof was crumpled and Hunter had to drop to his knees to see inside. Peter Jackson was hanging upside down, his neck at an awkward angle as his head pressed against the inside of the roof. His legs were trapped inside a squashed
In an instant Hunter realised why. A knife was parked just above the steering wheel.
Peter snatched it up and thrust it towards him.
The blade shot through the half open window and thanks to his swift footwork missed Hunter by a few inches. His stomach instantly turned-turtle and without hesitation he yelled back over his shoulder “Harry, he’s got a knife.” Instinctively, taking on a defensive pose, he took a gulp and said, “Just calm down Peter. There’s no need for this.”
“You’re not taking me in,” Jackson shouted, waving the menacing steel at Hunter.
Hunter drew back his arms. “Come on don’t be stupid Peter, this is only gonna make things worse.”
“Back off copper.”
Hunter’s brain was whirling. He locked onto Jackson’s cold bloodied glare. Licking dry lips he said, “Come on be sensible. We can get this sorted out. Kim’s gonna be all right. Just give me the knife and we can forget this ever happened.” He edged one hand forward.
“Fuck off with the bullshit.”
“I’m not bullshitting Peter. There’s only me and you here. Give me the knife and I’ll say you came quietly.”
Hunter saw Jackson’s face change. The hard granite stare became a blank look. He took a step nearer.
In that instant Peter catapulted himself forwards and with a whiplash movement swung out his arm. The knife he’d been clutching whizzed through the gap in the driver’s window.
Hunter tried to react, but he had hardly turned before the blade hit him in the chest. Instinctively he staggered back and let out a gasp.
“You’re fucking lying,” Peter screamed and fired the Bluebird’s engine.
Clawing at his chest, Hunter felt the knife brush the front of his top coat as it fell towards the floor. His eyes snapped down to where the blade had hit and he heaved out a huge sigh as he realised it had struck his radio. He snatched up his eyes again at the sound of grit and gravel being churned up. The Bluebird’s wheels were spinning as it lurched forward.
For a split-second Hunter had to catch himself. His legs momentarily turning to jelly, but then his thoughts were back to the moment and he became conscious of the CID car tearing towards him. The passenger door swung open as it slowed alongside and Hunter leapt into the front seat, scrambling around for the seatbelt. In front, through a veil of coal dust and dirt he could make out Peter Jackson’s Bluebird snaking haphazardly towards the exit gates. He snatched up the car radio to broadcast their pursuit. But before he had even begun to speak, ahead, he saw the red car swerving violently. For a second he watched it slide sideways and then the rear end started to buck. Hunter could hear the Nissan’s engine scream as an uncontrollable spin followed. Seconds later it smashed into the metal gates, sending fragments of rusting steel every which way, as it careered through the gap and impacted into a grass bank. There was an almighty thump as the Bluebird bounced upwards, spun one-hundred-and eighty-degrees in the air before coming back to land on its roof with a sickening crunch.
The CID slew ed to a halt yards from the crash and before Harry had even applied the handbrake Hunter was throwing open the passenger door and scrambling from his seat.
As Hunter approached the upturned Nissan he could hear Peter Jackson screaming. The sound reminded him of the time, as a young teenager, he had watched pigs being corralled into a slaughterhouse.
The upside down car was steaming. The roof was crumpled and Hunter had to drop to his knees to see inside. Peter Jackson was hanging upside down, his neck at an awkward angle as his head pressed against the inside of the roof. His legs were trapped inside a squashed
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