by S E Holmes
access to our laneway, lumbering past too slow. At our current rate, we too would pass into the beyond – the eternal beyond, in a tortured mass of steel and blood at the shattering moment of impact. The ‘hang on’ bit came naturally; Smithy wore me like a second skin.
“Oh, he wouldn’t! Does he care about you at all?” Seth couldn’t disguise his disbelief.
“Shut up! Leave me alone!”
“Here we go!”
Smith disengaged the gears, slipping the bike into neutral and we began our glide towards imminent death. At least it was quieter. With my eyes squeezed shut, I felt the bike tilt almost horizontal and slide bumpily along the tarmac, clinging with my knees as metal screeched. If we made it through alive, I would throttle Smith for this! Bea was right, of course, motorcycles were dangerous! Especially with him at the handlebars.
I couldn’t help it, my eyes flew open just as we veered under the trailer’s carriage in a trail of sparks. The whole event seemed to take an eternity, but before I could blink Smithy planted his ground-side foot to shove the bike erect with a grunt. The engine growled back to life. After a tight corner, we fishtailed into our alley, streaking along its length, straight past the warehouse.
And straight by the weirdest scene of my very weird life.
Twenty-Five
When we reached the far end of the alley, Smith slowed the bike and pivoted us to face back the way we’d come. It had finally stopped raining.
“You’ll want to see this,” he said. “Take the helmet off for a better view.”
I mutely complied, my lips pressed thinly as I bent to place the helmet on cobbled pavement. He turned to me with his helmet still firmly on and received a murderous scowl. The critique of his stunt work would be highly negative. He put a finger against my lips, his voice muffled.
“Just watch. There’ll be plenty of time for shouting at me later.”
He swivelled back to observe the action unfold. I wrapped my hands around his chest and he took them in his. I peered over his shoulder, to appraise the unlikely picture. Midway along the alley, at the doorway to our warehouse, stood Fortescue, ramrod straight with his back to us in the middle of the road. He held a long, ornately carved pipe to his mouth, as though about to blow a trumpet.
Half a metre in front of him, kneeling on one knee, the other at a right angle for stability, was Bea. She aimed a wide crossbow. Usually, a bow was held in the vertical plane of the body, but hers was oriented parallel with the ground. She aimed towards the mouth of the alley where Seth was likely to appear. Two arrows were fixed wide apart to the drawstring, both pulled back in readiness to fly. Thin ropes dangled from each arrow and pooled in a heap on the ground.
Stranger still, was Mrs Paget. She hung in a climbing rig from the side of an abandoned five-storey office building at the alley’s entrance. It was the sort of equipment used to winch a floating yachtsman to the safety of a chopper. Around her waist, she wore a worker’s belt with assorted flasks held in place by leather holders, and high-tech goggles that made her look like a large bug latched to the wall. All of my minders wore small earpieces by which to coordinate the offensive. The whole strategy had clearly been devised to trap Seth – with me as the lure. I didn’t know how I felt about that.
Vovo and Cherish slunk out of the open warehouse door towards Smithy and me, coming to sit like sentinels, one either side of the Ducati. They were not purring now, their gold eyes vigilant, tails twitching alertly back and forth. Smithy’s apartment building was already in abnormal darkness, as was our warehouse, which was the only other occupied building in proximity. The streetlights went out, one after the other, plunging us into murky black.
I could feel Seth’s arrival, my skin tingling. He solidified from billowing white mist to hesitate at the entrance of the lane, apparently sensing something was not right. Smithy reassuringly increased his grasp of my hands.
“Where have you gone, Keeper?” Seth’s haughtiness faltered.
I held my breath, hoping he’d venture closer, not turn and flee. After several tense moments, we heard Seth walk further down the alley to within shooting range. My guardians were ready for him. Mrs Paget threw down several vials at once. There was a loud bang and flashes like welding lit up the night. Liquid showered Seth and thickened to encase him in a clear resinous substance, presumably to stop him from returning to his vaporous state. Fortescue puffed a breath into his blowpipe and before I could blink, the dart hit its target. Seth reflexively slapped at his neck.
Simultaneously, Bea released her arrows and the ropes attached to them whipped a shiny, silvery net through the air. Seth swayed and lurched backwards as the mesh hit him and weighted arrows arced back around his body, wrapping him snugly. He collapsed lethargically to the road. The streetlights flickered on. Everyone jumped to action – except for me – I stood stunned, my jaw on the floor. Our cats prowled an impatient circuit about the Ducati, my bum still planted on the passenger seat.
Mrs Paget nimbly rappelled down the wall, detaching her climbing gear and collecting any evidence such as broken flasks from the street. She offered me a cadaverous grin, and then joined Fortescue where they both disappeared into the garage. I heard the roar of Bea’s Bentley starting up below and then the car itself appeared and purred towards the end of the alley.
Smithy, who’d finally removed his helmet, strode purposefully over to Seth. He roughly hoisted the big youth up in a limp bundle of netting, heading for the warehouse entrance as if toting no more than a handbag. I realised belatedly this was probably not ideal for Seth’s ongoing wellbeing.
Bea rushed over and pulled me into a smothering hug. “I am so sorry, Winnie. We will never jeopardise your safety like that again! Quickly, inside now. We don’t want any more unwelcome visitors. The cats are a bit agitated.”
A loud thud from the warehouse doorway took our attention. “Is that truly necessary, Vegas?”
“Whatever do you mean, Aunt Bea?” Smithy grinned tightly and banged Seth’s head hard against the stone portico for a second time. “He doesn’t fit!”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” I said.
“Oh, I haven’t even started.”
Bea hustled me forward while she reasoned with Smithy. “That may well be, but this doorway congestion prevents our entry. If you don’t mind, I suggest we move inside. Fortescue and Mrs Paget are waiting for you in the car. You also need to hide the bike, until we can dispose of it. The false plates were a smart idea, yet I suspect the police have not ignored your efforts. Please.”
“I will not leave Bear. The others can retrieve Hugo.”
“The major threat has abated, for now. Please! Adhere to the arrangements.”
He scowled and knowing him as well as I did, was poised to argue. But the moment the cats began hissing, Smith stepped inside. Skittering claws and squeaks could be heard amassing in the shadows. If anything, city rats were nastier than their water-bound cousins. Without the need of extra encouragement, I brushed past Smith, Bea corralling us along. The impending demise of Smithy’s beloved bike sucked. The machine was an extension of his character. It seemed a precursor for what was to come, a mere hint at potential casualties.
“I’m sorry about your bike.”
“It’s just a material possession.” He shrugged and gazed at me. “There are far worse things to lose.”
The door clanged shut at our backs; its thick reinforced bolts slid into their housings. I was no longer reassured by that solid sound, knowing how easily Seth had breached our security. And it signalled the demise of my freedom. Now, the likelihood of venturing outside unscathed mimicked the horizon – a mythical destination that moved away with every step you took towards it.
“I am not going anywhere,” I declared.
“Good,” his eyes lingered on mine. “I don’t want to have to hunt you down. Again.”
Smith would forgive me. He had to. I could not do this alone. “You know I was compelled. It wasn’t my choice?”
Seth sti
rred in his arms and Smith’s expression turned to stone. “Did he compel you to enjoy it so much?” he whispered through clenched teeth.
“You must get him into his cell and join the others. Do not dally, Vegas.” Smithy glowered again at Bea, but did as she asked. He slouched off through the collection to take the stairs below, no doubt fighting the urge to crush his cargo anaconda-style.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave Seth with Smithy?”
“For the record, I am quite tempted to allow Smith free reign with the insufferable villain. Perhaps I should also offer Jerome some much sought after practice with his rusted bayonet.”
We trailed Smith’s course, departing upstairs for the bedroom wing as Vegas stomped to the depths with a fading volley of bangs and bumps that gave me savage satisfaction.
“What about the judge? He would not have missed all that commotion in his alley, surely?”
“He’s in Bermuda with his latest wife. She won the door prize at our ladies’ luncheon. Serendipity, don’t you think?”
My eyes narrowed as we entered the kitchen. I had never been happier to see this room. “Aunt Bea! Did you rig your own raffle?”
“Winsome. That would be dishonest.” Her hand went to her pearls in mock dismay.
Wow! I already knew they were a shifty lot, but who could have anticipated to what extent? I shook my head. “Did Hugo really betray us to