Who Dares Wins

by Vince Vogel

  No time to think. Just do.

  Dorring burst from the wall. Before either man in the cell knew what was happening, he was standing over them. Fergus was the more dangerous. The young cop just looked scared. The men at the door didn’t know what to do.

  Swooping down and slightly to the side, Dorring dodged the jab that came from Fergus, moved around the outstretched arm and thrust the crown of his head forward in a jabbing motion, so that it came up into Fergus’ jaw as he moved forward with his punch.

  The jaw was glass. It knocked the cop out immediately.

  The men at the door went to pile in, but they were too eager. The first two got trapped in the doorway shoulder to shoulder. Dorring turned on the young cop, who now looked up at him apologetically. He charged at him from the back of the cell. The young cop let out a shriek as Dorring sent him reeling back toward the door and into the other men, hitting them with such force that they topped over and spilled into the corridor outside.

  “Get the guns!” somebody cried.

  While they picked themselves up, Dorring dislocated both shoulders, a feat he’d been able to do since childhood, and slipped through his own arms as though they were a loop of rope tied on either end to his shoulders. Then, with a quick jerk, he snapped each arm back in. Now his hands, the chain and the lump of wood were at his front. A foot square piece of splintered wood hung from him like a medieval mace. He had a weapon.

  He charged out of the door at the men as some of them scrambled off to get guns. Coming out of the cell, the men leaping back, Dorring swung his arms through the air. The chunk of wood flew upwards at the nearest guy, caught him under the chin and lifted him several inches. Before he’d even landed, Dorring turned on the next, dodged a clumsy punch by ducking down, and swung the wood sideways into the guy’s knees. He heard the joints break and the guy screamed as he collapsed to the floor.

  Someone punched him in the back. It felt like a paper pellet from a straw. He turned and found the young cop standing there holding his fist. Again he looked apologetic and Dorring could see that he was shivering.

  Glaring at him, Dorring said, “Undo the cuffs.”

  “I ain’t got tha key,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “Fergus.”

  Dorring glanced sideways into the cell.

  “Get it,” he said.

  The young guy shook his head and then ran off to the others. Dorring breathed out deeply and then reentered the cell. Soon, the others would return with guns. Soon, he would possibly have to kill to get out.

  27

  Abigail had to get out of that trunk and not long after setting off, she’d found a way.

  The second the car had begun moving, she’d scooted over and lifted the carpet to reveal the spare wheel. They’d made a mistake leaving everything in there. Moving the spare to the side, she’d found the jack underneath.

  It was now set up inside the trunk, underneath the lid of the saloon, and she was slowly raising it up, the metal of the boot creaking and bending, the lock pulling apart.

  Inside the car, the men were unaware, too busy listening to classical music, which they’d turned up loud to drown out her screaming. It was now drowning out the sounds of her escape.

  The lock popped and she caught the edge of the lid, so that it didn’t rise all the way and alert them in the car. Peeking out of a two inch gap, she saw that they were leaving the edge of town. They would have to turn off at the end of the road. She would make a run for it there.

  The town was waking up. People opened their front doors and took the milk in. Many of them nodded in the direction of Appleby’s saloon as it drove carefully past and Abigail was sure to pull the lid all the way down before they noticed.

  When they reached the junction, the saloon stopped momentarily so Appleby’s driver could see if any traffic was coming. Sure that there was none, he pulled onto the road and drove onwards.

  Abigail took no chances. The moment she slipped out of the trunk, she darted from the junction and into the cover of the alleyways that split the buildings of the main town.

  She had one single destination she could go.

  An alleyway ran down one side of the police station. At its end, she peeked out either way to see what cars were on the road. There were none. She hoped to God that Appleby hadn’t noticed she was gone and called the station.

  Stepping into the street, she put her head down and entered the police station using her key, as the front door was locked. The moment she was in, she heard the murmur of a commotion happening deeper inside the station. Then she heard a gunshot.

  “What the hell!?” she exclaimed, running across the reception area and darting into the bowels of the police station.

  She entered a corridor that met another one running either way at the end. She heard shouting and groaning. Another volley of shot and Abigail was forced to place her hands over her ears as the bullets flew past the end of where she stood. Then someone shouted something and it stopped.

  “He’s broken ma arm!” a voice moaned loudly.

  Then another voice called out and Abigail instantly recognized it.

  It said, “I told you he wouldn’t come to any harm so long as you let me out of here. Since you won’t listen, I’ve broken his arm to let you know how serious I am.”

  It was Dorring.

  “Cease your bloody fire!” Abigail shouted, stepping toward the end of the corridor.

  “He’s got Jimmy, ma’am,” someone called out and she recognized it as an elderly constable by the name of Frank Hogg.

  “What’s goin’ on, Constable Hogg?” she called as she reached the end of the corridor.

  “Tha bastard’s got me, ma’am!” a young man’s voice cried out.

  It was Constable James McDowd.

  “You hold tight, Jimmy,” she said. Then addressing the rest, she said, “Is the suspect armed?”

  “No,” Hogg cried.

  “Then why are you using your weapons?”

  “You should’ve seen the bastard,” Hogg called back. “He ripped a bench off the wall with his hands chained to it. Then he knocked Fergus out with a headbutt. He’s a bastard demon.”

  In truth, she was glad Fergus was knocked out. It would be he who Appleby would contact.

  “Now listen here,” Abigail said in a resounding voice, wanting to calm them down. “I’m gonna be stepping into this wee corridor in a second. An’ I don’t want a bullet up ma ass, alright?”

  “Okay, ma’am, we’ll hold off,” came the voice of Hogg.

  Once more, Abigail prayed to God. Prayed that they hadn’t been contacted already. Otherwise they could shoot her and say it was an accident. Say that she got in the way.

  She stepped out into the corridor and breathed a huge sigh of relief when nothing happened. She glanced left. Six men were crowded that way, standing outside the gun cabinet with their pistols drawn. They were bloodied and fatigued, their uniforms covered in blood and sweat. Some of them had injuries. One had a split eye that was closed over and another sat propped against the wall, unable to stand for some reason. They looked like they’d been through one hell of a fight.

  “Where’s Fergus?” she asked them.

  Hogg, the sweat shining on his bald head, nodded the other way and Abigail swiveled around to see what was at the other end of that corridor.

  The walls that way were covered in bullet marks. Several of the framed photos had been hit and now lay on the gray carpet tiles, fragments of glass scattered everywhere. She wondered if his would be down there.

  “Where exactly?” she asked.

  “Inside tha cell,” Hogg shouted. “Knocked clean oot by that bastard’s hammer of a forehead.”

  “Have you injured the suspect?” she asked, looking at all the damage and bullet holes.

  “Nah! He won’t come out. An’ he’s got Jimmy, so we can’t go in there. He said he’ll break the poor boy’s neck.”

  “How’d this happen?”

  Hogg
went sheepish and she glanced at the faces of the other men. They all averted their eyes and looked down at the ground.

  “They wanted to have some fun with me,” Dorring called out, and Abigail turned to the open door of the cell about ten yards further up the hallway. It was where most of the damage was.

  “I gathered that,” Abigail called back. “You wanna let wee Jimmy go and then we can have a chat?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dorring shouted. “Wee Jimmy thought he was a man by beating someone who couldn’t fight back. Now he gets the chance to actually prove it. I’ve already busted one of his arms. I’ll break the other in a minute unless I’m allowed to leave.”

  “I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” she said. “Here’s what you’re gonna…”

  Abigail froze and turned suddenly when she heard the sound of the phone going off in Fergus’ office. It made her heart turn cold and she realized she had very little time.

  Now or never, she said to herself.

  Abigail put her head down and walked down the corridor towards the cell.

  “Hey, ma’am!” Hogg and the others cried out. “What’re ya doin’?”

  She came to the open entrance of the cell and gazed inside.

  Dorring stood in the center with Jimmy held tight to him. The young constable’s arm was twisted and held behind his back. The broken one dangled limply by his side. He was shivering violently and his eyes were wide open. In comparison, Dorring looked utterly serene.

  “I want to leave,” he said coolly. “I never killed anyone on this island.”

  “I know,” she said. “We both need to leave.”

  “What?”

  Dorring was confused. Was this a trick?

  As though reading his mind, she said, “No trick. We need to leave. Together. The body you found. It belongs to someone.”

  “Who?”

  “I’ll explain,” she said, glancing at Jimmy. “But later.”

  Dorring took a few seconds to reply.

  “What about them?” he asked, nodding at the doorway.

  “I’ll sort things out, but we have to leave.”

  “What’re ya talkin’ aboot, ma’am?” Jimmy said from within Dorring’s arms.

  “Shut up, Jimmy,” she snapped at him. Then looking back at Dorring, she went on, “I want you to tell me everything. I want to know why you’re really here.”

  Dorring gazed at her. She wasn’t the machine this time. She was earnest and looked at him as though he were some kind of hope to her. Dorring realized that there truly was more to Abigail Pritchard than originally met the eye.

  “Did they shoot the picture of your father?” he asked her.

  Abigail narrowed her eyes and bit her lip. “Who are you?” she said slowly.

  “Cards on the table time?” Dorring said.

  “Cards on the table,” Abigail repeated.

  “I’m here looking for a killer,” he told her. “One I first met fourteen years ago with Conner Jones and some others. It’s he who killed the man on the beach and he who killed Stevie. Possibly John Chalmers, too. Why he’s here, I don’t know, but he was here before. He murdered people back in the nineties when your father was the detective.”

  “How do you know who my father is?” she asked in a gentle whisper of a voice.

  She looked about ready to burst into tears.

  “I think it’s better I explain when we’re out of here,” Dorring said.

  “What’s happenin’, ma’am?” It was Hogg.

  “Everything’s okay here,” Abigail called behind her shoulder. “Stand down. I’m about to cuff the prisoner. He just wants to be left alone. I think it’s only fair we comply.”

  “Do you need help?” Hogg called back.

  “No!” she shouted. Looking at Jimmy, she said, “Get out of here.”

  She nodded at Dorring and he let him go. The young constable instantly darted out of the cell and up the corridor to his friends.

  “I’m cuffing the prisoner,” she shouted out. “Stand down.” Then turning to Dorring, she said in a hushed voice, “I better get back to them before Jimmy talks.”

  “What now?”

  “Stay here. It’ll be easy.”

  At that moment, Fergus murmured on the ground and began to writhe slightly.

  “Watch him,” she said. “He’s one of them.”

  She went to leave and he called her back.

  When she turned to him from the door, he said, “Who’s them?”

  “Later,” Abigail said. “Just wait here and make sure he doesn’t make a sound.”

  Abigail marched out of the cell and up the corridor. The men looked ready to march onward to the cell and shoot Dorring as he stood in it.

  “How’s Fergus?” Hogg asked when she reached them.

  “He’s fine. The prisoner is cuffed.”

  “That’ll not keep him.”

  “He’s calm now. So I’m gonna need you boys to hang up the guns.”

  “Nay way, ma’am,” Hogg shouted, and several of the others joined the chorus. “That bastard’s a dangerous animal.”

  “He’s calm,” Abigail assured him. “Which is more than I can say for all of yous. Now, please, go back inside the armory and return your weapons.”

  They stood looking at her. She had seniority, but they had their pride. Their men’s pride. It was wrangling in them. They’d been beaten by an unarmed man who they’d not even weakened through the substantial beating they’d already given him. It made each man in that hallway feel weak.

  On the other hand, some of them were already willing to give up. Having taken enough of a battering.

  “Maybe we should, lads,” one of them said.

  “Aye,” Jimmy agreed, holding his busted arm.

  Abigail glared at the others and shouted, “Now!”

  They relented. Seniority won the day. They turned with tails between their legs and walked into the cupboard, the thing about big enough to hold the men. When they were all inside, Abigail quickly shut the metal door on them, took her keys from her belt and locked it, snapping off the key in the latch when she had.

  “Hey!” their muffled voices called through the door.

  They began banging their fists against it, but it was only a hollow sound. It would do them no good. The door would keep them for however long it was before someone else came with a set of keys and then the right equipment to prize the broken key out of the lock. Because it was the gun cupboard, the door was like that of a bank safe. So there was no shooting out of it.

  Abigail went back to the cell.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said.

  The two of them left the cell and marched along the corridor.

  On hearing the men banging on the door, Dorring said, “You locked them in?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about getting a gun? I’d feel safer with one.”

  “We’ll pick mine up. It’s at my office.”

  She led him up some back stairs to a set of offices. There she unlocked a cabinet at her desk and took a Glock 17 handgun. She handed it to Dorring and grabbed up the ammunition, loading the pockets of her jacket with it.

  “Come on,” she said, and they left the office.

  When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dorring asked, “Is there a back way out of here?”

  “No. Only the front.”

  “Okay. Then stay behind me.”

  When they reached the front door, Dorring signaled with his hand for her to stay back as he edged towards it. Slowly eking along the wall, he got to the window of it and carefully lifted the blinds with outstretched fingers.

  He instantly saw the men on the road.

  Dorring leaped back as the window exploded and the blind ricocheted with bullets. The other windows smashed apart and automatic machine gun fire ripped into the walls around them.

  “Get back!” Dorring cried, diving onto the floor and crawling rapidly along it.

  Abigail was crouching down at t
he bottom of the wall with her hands over her ears. He grabbed her by the forearm and dragged her back into the corridor.

  “Upstairs,” he said.

  They reached the back stairs again and darted up them. In the upstairs offices, Dorring scanned everything. Like downstairs, the windows were barred from the inside and padlocked.

  “Where’s the loft?” he asked.

  “At the back,” she said.

  Pushing past, she led him along a narrow corridor. When she reached a hatch in the ceiling, she pulled a cord and a set of metal steps folded out.

  “It’s where we keep the old files,” she said. “But there’s nothing else up there. What do you hope to do?”

  “You’ll see,” he said, coming past her and launching himself up the steps.

  At the top, Dorring faced east, opposite the front of the place. Shoulder down, he aimed for a space between the joists and burst forward like an American football player. The shoulder hit the sheet of insulation and burst forward, pushing the tiles on the other side outwards, so that they popped from the nails holding them to the roof. He repeated the feat and forced more out until there was a hole in the roof large enough for them to fit through.

  Pushing himself through, Dorring glanced down and saw that there was a flat roof building only a foot away from the back of the station. As for the gunfire, it had stopped and he gathered that Appleby’s men were already searching the building for them.

  “Come on,” Dorring said, coming back through the hole.

  Abigail looked out of it and then back inside, a horrified expression on her face.

  “What do you intend on doing?” she asked.

  “Jumping down there,” he said. “I’ll lower you down. Now hurry up.”

  Shaking her head, Abigail began climbing through the hole. When she was halfway out, a leg dangling down the edge of the roof, she took hold of Dorring’s hands and he lifted her so that she was completely out. Then, as she lay flat to the tiles, he stretched his body out of the hole, so that he gradually lowered her down until she hung off.