Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Klempner A voice echoes from outside the room. “Larry, what d’you think you’re doing in there? You really think you have a chance?”

“I might ask you the same question, Baxter.”

“Do you seriously think you can get out of there? You’re covered from all angles in a dead-end corridor.

You’ve nowhere to go. Put the gun down and come out with your hands raised.

“Fuck you!”

There is a pause and the sound of movement and muttering, then, “If you don’t drop the weapon then we might have to take alternative action. We have a friend of yours with us. And to be fair, we have the money too.”

James…

A bluff?

Probably not…

“You going to take a look? He’s been missing you…”

And in the background, cursing; another voice I recognise.

Darting forward, then back, I risk a check around the door and down the corridor.

And yes, it’s James, battered and bruised but definitely not out of the game.

He looks fucking furious…

One eye is swollen almost shut, bruised to a shade of blue-crimson, the orb, a ball of blood. His head is raised against the muzzle pushing up at his chin to one side, the knife at his throat to the other. And I think his hands are cuffed behind him.

Standing to one side, Finchby, carrying something…

The money?

No… some kind of box…

More like a fisherman’s tackle box…

His grin is beyond irritating.

To the other side of James, Baxter cradles a handgun, the muzzle semi-aimed at him.

I yell down. “Nice to see you, James. I wondered if you’d be joining the party. How’re you doing?”

He growls, “I’ve had better days.”

From behind me, Jenny’s voice. “Is that him? They have him? Is he hurt?” Then she breaks into a groan.

Michael stills. His eyes meet mine then drop to Charlotte.

“You can’t let them kill him. You can’t.” She whimpers, then strains again.

From between her legs, a head is emerging. Bloodied, with a scrape of dark hair plastered over the scalp. She leans forward, trying to see over her distended belly then looks up to me. “Please, Father…

Have they hurt him?”

“He looks beaten up, but mad as hell.”

She drops back against Michael, her face contorted. “Don’t let them hurt him. Oh, God. Don’t let them hurt him.”

Baxter’s voice again. “Drop the gun, Larry. We’re coming in like it or not, and I imagine your little girl in there would prefer this one stays in one piece.”

James’ voice is a snarl. “Fuck you. You’re not using me to…” There’s a crunch and a grunt. As I risk a look outside, James is on the ground, Finchby planting a boot in his gut.

Jenny again, on a note of rising panic. “What are they doing? What are they doing to him?”

“Larry, throw out the weapon. Kick it into the corridor. Or we finish him. It’ll be slow and it’ll be noisy and she’ll hear every second of it.”

Finchby punctuates the end of the sentence with another kick. To James’ credit, the only sound he makes is a huff of expelled breath.

“What are they doing? Don’t let them hurt him. Stop them. Oh, God, Father, please stop them. I’ve never asked you for anything…”

I turn. “Jenny…” She’s streaming tears. “Jenny, this isn’t sensible.”

Michael kisses her cheek, then to me, “We can’t get out right now anyway. And do you think we can fight our way past gunfire with Jenny and a new-born baby? At least this way, James is here with Charlotte and they’ll not do him any more damage…”

For now…

He has a point though…

But I don’t have to like it.

The voice from outside again. “Throw out the weapon, Klempner. And remember we can see you on the camera.”

Not quite true…

I’m below the camera…

I suck air, run a quick mental inventory, then toss the gun out into the corridor.

“Step outside, Larry. Hands up.”

Will they shoot me on the spot?

No… Finchby’s a gloater…

Jenny, her face screwed up as she groans through another contraction, looks up at me. “Father… I…”

I wink and click my tongue at her. Pointing a finger, “You handle your end of it.” She nods, panting, and I step out, arms raised.

True to form, it’s not Finchby or Baxter who approach me. They stay safely at the far end of the corridor, standing over the still-prone James.

If ever I saw a man with murder in his eyes…

Baxter nods his two heavies towards me. “Search him. He’ll have other weapons.”

And there’s a face I recognise. Baxter’s sidekick from when he sprang me from the prison van.

“Good to see you again, Hickman. Just like old times.”

He grunts, frisking me.

My Glock goes first, from the belt holster. Then the knife tucked in the back of my belt. Then the other knife in the top of my left boot. Then the Ruger in my right boot holster.

“Take his belt too,” says Baxter. “And check his pockets for a slapper or a cosh.”

I’ve known that bastard far too long…

“Up his sleeves too,” says Finchby.

Him too…

Once they’re happy I’m ‘naked’, the happy pair wrench James up onto his feet and make their way to me.

James’ meets my gaze. With his one open eye and the expression he’s wearing, it could be Odin declaring Ragnarök.

Baxter strolls along, gun in hand, all nonchalance, smiling pleasantly. “Good to see you, Larry.”

“Baxter.”

“I'll admit, I expected we'd meet earlier.” He jerks his head to James. “Just like you to send someone else to do your dirty work... Now… “He points inside with the muzzle of his gun… “In you go. Let’s see how the happy event’s progressing.”

Once inside, he continues. “Bring him in. Let's get the three musketeers together, shall we.” He claps his hands together, rubs palms “What a good day. I'll be settling the bill with you, Klempner, and getting well paid for it at the same time.”

Finchby strolls in, still carrying the box. James is pushed into the cell behind him, his movements stiff.

Close to, he’s no prettier. His eyes settle on the straining Jenny.

‘Mad as hell’ does not describe him. As he sees Jenny, his expression is apocalyptic. “You bastards!”

he hisses. “You do this to a woman who’s innocent of any wrong to you? What possible justification do you have for…?”

Michael cuts him short. “She’s okay. It’s going normally.” Then to Finchby, “Suppose you let him take my place, then I can take a look at how she’s doing?”

Finchby looks to Baxter, who shrugs.

“Go on then,” sneers Finchby. “Go help the little girl.”

James’ voice is flat. “If I’m going to support her, you’ll have to free my hands.”

Finchby wavers then jerks his chin at Hickman. “Take his cuffs off. Stannis, keep them covered. Larry, you over there…” He points to the far corner of the cell.

Perfect…

A wall behind me and room to move.

But, as I meet James’ one eye, I keep my face bland.