Never Run Never Hide

By D C Stansfield

A year ago, Solomon Drift was the main enforcer for a multi-national crime organisation calling itself 'The Group'.

He had it all, everything a man could want - status, wealth and power. But then he met Connie Turner, "Connie bloody Turner " who turned his world inside out and upside down.

Today he has a huge bounty on his head and enemies everywhere, all his options are running out.

He has never run from a fight, never hidden from any man but now, trapped by love, he finds himself doing both.

Solomon is a bad man who, just once in his life, did a good deed and as he is finding out, they never go unpunished.

'Never Run, Never Hide' is a fast-paced action thriller encapsulating love, betrayal, violence and revenge and just a hint of redemption.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: D C Stansfield
• Release date: Apr 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215168271

Book preview

Other books by

D C Stansfield:

A Griffin A Murder and A Mason

A One-Sided Game

Tom Revilo

An Assassin For The New Templars

The Assassin, The Grey Man and The Surgeon series:

Book 1:  The Assassin, The Grey Man and The Surgeon

Book 2:  To Kill a Grey Man

Book 3:  A Wicked Profit

Book 4:  The Russians and the Beast

Chapter 1

The weak morning light filtered through the corners of his closed eyelids and started to wake him.  He tried to resist, not allowing his eyes to fully open, desperately wanting to keep hold of the night and the dream, for it was a beautiful dream, truly beautiful, one of happiness, laughter and light.  A dream full of promise and hope, filled with love.  He wanted it to go on forever, to feel the continuing warmth and sunlight and joy but rainwater had seeped through into his trousers and coat and the cold from the pavement started eating into his bones.  So sadly, all too soon, the spell was broken. 

Eventually he slowly lifted his eyelids to be met with a thin, grey, dawn sky giving off a mist of cold, light rain and tried to focus.  Unfortunately for Solomon, as his body adjusted and became fully awake, he realised it wasn't his dream he had dreamt, it somehow must have slipped into his mind from someone else and instead of making him happy, it now plunged him deeper into despair.

You see, Solomon didn't have nice happy sunlit dreams, he dreamt of pain, of suffering and loss, of darkness, wickedness and betrayal and what amounted to a life wasted.  All of which had brought him to this place.

He looked around at the dirty, stinking alleyway that had served as his bedroom and the discarded empty bottle of cheap vodka laying at his feet, drunk in a hurry last night, desperate after another sad and lonely day to escape into an alcoholic haze, to escape from the misery he was living in.  But as always there were consequences and now he felt dreadfully sick, a burning sensation starting deep in his stomach threatening to overwhelm him.  The drainpipe at his back was wet and greasy and the cardboard boxes which were used as both mattress and cover, were damp and soggy.  Solomon pushed them off and rolled onto his side and tried to stand.  The old army boots slipped on the wet ground and he only succeeded on the third attempt to get to his knees.  Then, with a Herculean effort, he stood up straight, one arm steadying himself against the wall, before stomach cramps doubled him over again.

He hadn't eaten for two days and could feel the hard spirit rotting his intestines, sending shooting pains through him.  He opened his mouth to try to be sick but only managed a dry retching which racked his thin body with pain. A few minutes of this agony went by before it subsided leaving a taste of acid in his mouth.  He tried to stand upright again, propping the other arm against the wall and leaning heavily.  It took him a few seconds before he finally achieved it.  Once steady, he looked down at himself.  The boots were worn through and split at the sides, the trousers so filthy he couldn't see what colour they had originally been and then layers of whatever clothes he had been able to find or steal, all wrapped in an army surplus greatcoat complete with ripped epaulets and no buttons, tied together round his middle with old string.  Long, soaking wet, greasy hair obscured half his face and he pushed it out of his eyes and tried to concentrate on the day.

Is this as low as I can go? he wondered with despair, half out loud.  Haven't I been punished enough?

No, said the little voice inside him.  Not by a long chalk, you bastard.

He shuffled out of the alleyway, taking in deep breaths which turned into a racking cough and then cleared as his body got going and warmed up.  His hand went into his good pocket, the only one without a hole, feeling for the rest of the money from the day before.  It had been earned by sitting for twelve long hours on the cold wet pavement with his head bowed, begging for whatever people would throw into his bowl.  He tried to remember how much was left without taking it out and showing it to the world.

The money had slowly accumulated in copper and silver denominations, thrown in one by one from passers-by who ignored his presence as much as they could, but perhaps felt a twinge of guilt at their good fortune and Solomon's pitiful condition.  There but for the grace of God go I, they must have thought as they made their donations in a small, non-descript town a few miles away from the South Coast.  Solomon wasn't quite sure where as like so many others he had been to, he hadn't bothered to find out its name.  It was just somewhere to pass through and gather some coins. The high street had been small and sparsely populated, but the people passing him as he sat in the cold downpour with his exposed head hanging down, dripping rainwater onto the concrete slabs, had been generous.  They had given him enough for the bottle of supermarket vodka and, as it suddenly came to him, the three pounds left in change which was now held covertly.  A good day's work for someone in his line of business. 

After walking a few weak steps, he almost stumbled which clearly demonstrated how desperate his body was for food.  Solomon now understood what it was like to be starving hungry, that all consuming overwhelming need, something which had become an all too familiar experience over the last few months.  In his former life he had never felt this way.  Hunger then had been a small irritation, something easily fixed.  Now it was a desperate painful ache which had to be fulfilled.

However, shopping these days was tricky due to his appearance.  No fast food outlets or cafes would let him in and small shops stopped him at the door.  Only the bigger outlets might let him pass, if the security guard was looking elsewhere and he was quick.

Solomon wandered slowly down the high street to an outdoor shopping area and sat on a wall outside a large supermarket, stomach grumbling, waiting for it to get busy.  Watching and waiting for the right moment, studying the security staff, till the main guard was distracted by a potential shoplifter which gave him his chance to scurry in as quick as his body would let him, heading  first to the bread aisle, grabbing a loaf and then to the tinned food aisle where he picked up two tins of the cheapest value baked beans.  He was tempted to slip a couple more tins into his pockets but knew if he was caught, that would be the end of him so resisted the impulse.  At the self-serve till, he scrambled to scan the food quickly and slot in the myriad of small denomination coins that made up his stash before the guard's hand grabbed his collar.

Out.  Now! a high pitched voice said pulling and pushing Solomon who, with his precious goods under his arm, was frog marched out into the cold morning.  When they were some distance from the door and out of sight of other customers, the teenage guard spun him round and put a fist up to his face.  Don't ever come back or you'll get some of this! he said.  You understand, you stinking parasite?

A year ago Solomon would have laughed and kicked the little sod up the arse but then again, a year ago it wouldn't have happened so he just nodded, put his head down and tried not to fall over as the boy pushed him away.  On the walk back to resume his duty, the teenager, face twisted in disgust took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands in case they might have been contaminated by touching Solomon's coat.

With the drama over, Solomon stood there for a while watching him walk into the supermarket and take up his post, going back to his life of normality and boredom.  He was almost overcome with envy.  What would I give to change places with that little snot? he wondered. 

He looked up at the sky.  It was a dirty grey and the cold wet wind started to whip everything about.  With his hunger still rampant, he shuffled along in his split boots, trying to find somewhere quiet to rest and eat where he wouldn't be moved on or cause unnecessary attention.  A half mile or so from the supermarket, he reached the edge of the town and followed a path into a park by the side of a small pond.  The mist had lifted but the grey sky was low and ominous and the cold was starting to get intense.  He sat down on a bench, opened up a can of beans by the ring pull and dipped in a chunk of bread.  On an empty stomach it tasted divine, the best meal he could ever remember.  A few ducks waddled over and for no other reason than a little company, Solomon shared a slice of bread between them and sat and watched their busy squabbling as they fought over the crumbs.  Taking his time, savouring every mouthful, he slowly ate half the loaf and the full tin of beans using a wedge of bread to wipe the inside of the can clean, mopping up every drop, before reluctantly, still hungry, pushing the rest into his coat's cavernous pockets to eat later.  Once the ducks realised there was no more coming their way, they waddled off to leave him alone.

He sat on the bench for the next few hours staring off into space, trying not to think of the past but his mind wouldn't go anywhere else and it replayed, in no particular order, various scenes that had led him here, over and over in a sad, continuous loop.  Finally, as if a message sent just for him, the promised rain started to fall, first in a drizzle then in large cold drops and he knew he couldn't sit there for much longer.  He had to move on, for to stay anywhere was to be caught by his old employer, The Group, and once caught he was dead.

Chapter 2

Twelve months earlier

Solomon Drift stood on the pavement in the bright sunshine looking up at the imposing building in Knightsbridge, London, careful to shield his eyes from the reflection off the bright, white stucco plaster exterior.  By anyone's measure it was a mansion, five storeys high with wide Georgian sash windows, a lofty entranceway guarded by four marble pillars and a massive black front door with an ornate brass knocker in the centre cast in the shape of a fish.  To the right was a circular brass escutcheon with a round large, black button in the middle bearing the legend 'Push'.  It was all impressive and imposing, speaking of wealth and privilege, perfectly situated, close to London's best museums, restaurants and expensive up-market shopping areas. 

The house was owned by Sir Phillip Portman and it had been in his family for over two centuries.  Although extensively remodelled after The Blitz of the Second World War, it still retained the charm of a much earlier time.  The house was part of a millionaires' row of similar dwellings where the houses tended to be passed down from generation to generation, rarely coming onto the open market.  Notwithstanding that, Solomon was here to buy it on behalf of his boss, Alain D'Clerk, though Sir Phillip, as yet, had no idea it was up for sale.

He pushed the black button twice and heard a bell ring faintly somewhere inside the building and then footsteps getting louder as they came towards him.  The door was opened by an elderly man in a black suit, white shirt and black tie. Can I help you? he said, deferentially.

I have an appointment with Sir Phillip, said Solomon.

Ah, Mr D'Clerk, he said, smiling brightly.  You are right on time.  Let me show you into the lounge.  Sir Phillip will be with you shortly.

No sorry, said Solomon apologetically.  I'm not Mr D'Clerk.  Unfortunately he couldn't make it, so sent me instead.  My name is Drift, Solomon Drift.  I am one of Mr D'Clerk's associates.

I see, said the man, the smile disappearing and the voice now slightly less deferential.  I'm afraid Sir Phillip is a very busy man and rarely entertains associates.  He said the word 'associates' as if it soured the taste in his mouth.  Let me check to see if this is acceptable.  In the meantime, please follow me.

Solomon followed the man down through the main hall and passed the most beautiful sweeping staircase he had ever seen outside of a Busby Berkeley musical.  The floor was covered in highly polished Italian marble that made the heels of his shoes click as he walked.  On the walls in the hallway and running up the stairs were expensive looking gilt framed oil paintings showing past aristocrats in various historical dress and poses, all positioned perfectly.  The ceilings were decorated in a highly ornate, raised plaster design clustered around huge crystal chandeliers.  The whole effect was a demonstration of class and restrained elegance.

The man opened both double doors into the lounge at the same time with a small display of theatricality and stood to the side motioning Solomon through into a spectacular room bedecked in fine Edwardian walnut furniture.  An ornate table stood to one side flanked by two exquisite cabinets, expensive landscape paintings were dotted artfully on the walls and the floor was covered in a thick, deep blue carpet.  The room was dominated by three huge leather sofas encasing a large ornate fireplace.  It was, thought Solomon, designed to demonstrate not only the owner's taste, but also his power and money, a truly intimidating room for those without wealth, though it impressed Solomon not at all.  He walked through into the centre of the room and sat down in the large leather sofa opposite the huge fireplace, composed himself and waited.

The man disappeared and returned a few minutes later. 

Sir Phillip has been somewhat delayed, he said sharply this time, displaying no deference at all.  Possibly for some time.  Would you care to wait or will you reschedule?

I'll wait, said a smiling Solomon realising this was just a game.  Sir Phillip was sending him a message pointing out just where he stood in the pecking order.

The man nodded and disappeared.  Solomon took out his mobile and started to work through his mountain of emails, today was just another day at the office and he didn't want to get behind.  Thirty minutes or so later the door opened and in swept the man himself.  He was large, ugly and corpulent running to fat that even the expensive handmade double-breasted suit did nothing to conceal.  Mid-forties with small blue eyes and thinning hair, it was difficult for Solomon to link him to the woman-chasing exploits detailed so meticulously in the extensive file he had been shown earlier that day.

Solomon stood and walked forward so they could shake hands.

Sit, sit, said Sir Phillip expansively, his arms thrown wide in a gesture of goodwill.  But I am afraid I can only give you a few minutes.  I'm extremely busy and only agreed to this meeting as a favour to Mr D'Clerk.  He and I are old school chums and we must look after each other, mustn't we?  He paused for effect before going on.  But I must say, I am a bit peeved he didn't come himself or at least have the manners to reschedule our meeting.

Portman had one of those unique voices cultivated by the upper classes full of depth and round vowels.  His, however was slightly nasal and higher pitched than normal.  Solomon thought perhaps he was trying for a louche effect which unfortunately didn't quite come off, it actually made him sound a touch effeminate and he wondered if Portman was aware of that, though nothing in the file had suggested that he swung both ways.

Solomon sat back in the leather chair, smiled and said.  Let me apologise on his behalf and I can assure you this will only take a few minutes.

Well, fire away then, said Sir Phillip, who, after mentioning his displeasure, now appeared full of bonhomie.  I am all ears. 

He sat to the right of Solomon in the middle of the sofa crossing his legs and stretching out his arms wide resting then on the back, looking like a man who owned the world.

Mr D'Clerk would like to buy this house and would like to offer you ten percent over the market value, said Solomon.

No! said Sir Phillip quickly and angrily, his cheery smile disappearing.  "I have already told him that nearly eight months ago when he first brought it up. This house has been in my family for generations and is not for sale at any