The Ringer

by Greg Hunt

  Natalia’s mind had been a blur. Her thoughts were confused. She had needed space over the last couple of days since the incident to work out how she was to cope with the recent course of events. It would take her much longer to come to terms with what had happened, but the immediate priorities gave her a focus.

  Yes, her mind was able to concentrate on the here and now. She would try and push the recent events to the back of her mind and concentrate on the moment. It was worth channelling her remaining energies to justify all the planning and preparation that had gone before. In just another twenty-four hours all the supply would be out in the market place and she could start recouping the monies that she and her family were due.

  Potentially, they would make thousands of pounds sterling, hundreds of thousands, perhaps much more than that. Certain suppliers and distributors did have to be paid and without her brothers’ strong arm support, Natalia reflected that they might have to be paid in full. This was worrying. There had to be a way around it. There was never enough cash in the pot for everyone. If Natalia was to succeed then this had to be at the expense of others.

  Thinking about the next few hours was crucial. She selected her outfit and read up on Betts, their man on the inside who had kept the UK authorities at bay. He had done well so far, but nothing lasted forever, did it? Her packages needed to be followed and kept tabs on, both the car and the other smaller goods. Betts would play his part and allow the final distribution meeting to take place.

  Chapter 63

  Natalia had wanted to have immediate control of Betts’s mind and body. To do so, she had dressed appropriately. She knew about his past and the wanderings of this man and she would lure him where she wanted him to follow.

  The Spanish in Natalia had been creative with her hair braided. It had also been seductive. She hid the fact that she was not wearing just a simple sweater from the crew and Captain by her long woollen dark coat. This kept her warm and gave her an air of anonymity.

  The freighter gently touched the wooden mooring posts and the crew lowered the mooring lines to the waiting dockside workers. As the boat was secured, arrangements were quickly being made for the cranes to start unloading the crates in the hold and for any deck cargo to be separately swung to shore using the freighter’s smaller hoists.

  The boat became a sea of life, with the cranes swinging back and forth. Urgent instructions were being given to low loaders on the shore if certain sea crates needed moving, and the customs officials were already taking an interest in a number of the crates as it was clear that the freighter had travelled directly from Lima, which was rare.

  Natalia trod carefully down the gangplank in her sensible trainers and jogging bottoms. These were her first footsteps on the United Kingdom’s rich soil and she enjoyed practising her accented English phrases as she entered the passenger customs area. Her documents were checked without comment and she proceeded to the ladies room.

  It was a different, stunning lady that left the same room twenty minutes later, appearing immaculate and beautiful and, well, breathtaking. She had make-up that accented her strong Spanish face with off-red rouge on the lips and light mascara hidden behind the designer sunglasses. The figure hugging black top accented her natural curves and highlighted the medium sized pearls that sat above the rise and fall of her breasts.

  Natalia was proud of her legs and showed them off to full effect. The stockings would be saved for Betts’s touch if she really had to go that far. The high heels kept her on tip-toe and accented and extenuated the shape of her athletic lower limbs, which seemed to have been exaggerated by the belt-sized skirt.

  The black, tightly fitted micro-skirt was short. Short enough for the person wearing it to keep pulling it down around the edges, to immediately cross their legs whenever sitting and to appear to be brushing crumbs or dust off the front when in reality the wearer had realised that she had gone too far and was not wearing enough material.

  Natalia, however, was in a position of power. She felt in control. She soaked up and absorbed the mainly male glances of lust, the female glances of spite and jealousy, and confidently stepped out into the passenger pick-up point.

  There was the man in his rusty van; waiting like a puppy dog. He was late middle-age, and still in good physical shape, although past his prime. The hair was fighting the brown-grey war and he had a very determined look on his face, but she could see that he knew of her reputation and would do what she said. It had to be Betts.

  Natalia walked straight towards him and Betts had to recover from his natural male desire to look at anything except this beautiful Spanish woman’s face. He stared at Natalia and gazed directly into her hard eyes. He immediately came to the conclusion that she had experienced much in her life and like himself, had had to confront tough issues head on. They were kindred spirits, he thought. Betts would stop at nothing and do whatever it would take to know this lady thoroughly.

  Having had years of experience, Betts pulled out the charm. He scurried round to the passenger door and opened it for her. He paused for the extra second to enable her to adjust her skirt to hoist herself into the seat.

  Driving to the top hotel in the area where Natalia was staying her first night, Betts missed the gear stick and accidentally stroked Natalia’s stockinged thigh. She just smiled as though she had not noticed. Betts was not aware of the irritation that lay just behind her outward mask.

  Natalia asked just one question on the journey, “Is my consignment safe, Betts?”

  “Yes it is, Senorita Morales,” Betts replied.

  Chapter 64

  David had discussed the importance of their consignment with Betts. They stood side by side as links in the long Morales chain. It was an interlocking relationship and relied on both the men trusting each other, for this marriage of convenience allowed the respective partners to make money. They certainly benefited from the efficiencies, and conversely suffered from the inefficiencies, of each other.

  Betts had been pumped full of adrenalin at setting off to meet Natalia, and David was excited for him. Unable to concentrate whilst gambling within the Student Union, the pocket money that he had lost would soon be replaced by a proper wage; a wage that he had earned through his hard work, he reminded himself.

  It had taken years for him to become the main dealer of cocaine in Portsmouth. His clients respected him. They relied on the quality and regularity of his supply and knew they needed to pay up in full, otherwise they would be at risk of not seeing him again.

  Turning away from Betts’ van which was quickly exiting the rear car park of the Student Union, David was in the mood for a few drinks. He strode towards the bar and sat himself on one of the free upright stools.

  “Two lagers, please,” he shouted at Corinne serving behind the bar.

  There was only the one of him, but he wanted to make a quick start. He had other matters to attend to. It had been pushed to the back of his mind what was happening with his date for the evening. His concentration had been on the cocaine supply for the evening in the Student Union to ensure his few hundred pounds during the course of the ball. He had completely lost track of Emma.

  In focusing on the quick encounter and send off for Betts, his other half had wandered off. David was sure that he had last been with her by the casino tables, but they were closed now. All who had been on the bucking bronco, or on the blow up bungee corridors or at the casino, were now in the main bar area and the various sitting areas that led off.

  David appeared pained. This had been a chance to progress his personal life with the most beautiful girl at the university and yet his mind had been elsewhere. He never knew when to stop. He could not help himself. Had Emma been his chance to escape? Could he convince his own soul that he really had been able to remove himself from the mess that he was in?

  He could not see her anywhere. He shouted at Corinne for another couple of lagers and slouched back against the edge of the bar, the stool which he had perched on
earlier had now been taken and his mood was worsening. The couple next to him were all over each other and this just made matters worse. He gazed in the other direction and took in the small happy crowds of team players, their housemates and some of the friends becoming very close friends.

  He downed the first pint of the new round, picked up the second and walked around the whole of the bar area and the seating areas off it in a similar fashion to a lost sheep. He had to leave. He had created his own personal mess and he would be the one to pull himself out of his current situation. He would show Emma that he was not a lost cause; his future wealth would guarantee admiration from others and that they would look up to him. He would not be a worthless individual. Money would ensure others loved him.

  David left the union by the front main entrance and walked out past the bouncer on the gate. Next to him were students who had not pre-bought a ticket, queuing outside to join in the party. The ball was now just beginning to liven up, with the music blaring out its regular beats into the neighbouring streets.

  David walked along the familiar roads across town. They eventually led him to the back of St. Mary’s Church in the northern part of the island. The church was never properly lit up, and suffered from vandalism. There was a new cracked window just to the side of the entrance and a temporary piece of plywood had been propped up on the inside of the building.

  The height of the historic architecture cast long shadows in the moonlit evening and the air was still. Nobody was about and David was an unnoticed, solitary figure. He hugged the dark buttresses of the tower and found the pathway that signalled the direction his footsteps needed to take.

  Ensuring that no-one was behind him, David opened the manhole cover set low in the pathway and descended the shiny new loft-ladder that he had installed especially.

  He shone his torch in the gloom and found the wooden door padlock. Turning his standard key released the bolt, and David walked through to the room beyond.

  Huddled in their respective beds under the large grey blankets was a middle aged woman in the larger adult sized bed and a young teenage girl in the smaller bed adjacent. The torchlight picked out the links of the chains that led to the right ankles of each of the prisoners. The skin had chafed slightly on both the mother and daughter where the chain had resisted their movement around the room. David reflected that the pair had behaved themselves throughout their ordeal. Even he was aware that the two of them had been insurance for the Woodcutter’s actions, whoever the Woodcutter was.

  Chapter 65

  David turned off his torch and sat in the wooden chair facing the two beds. In the partial light his eyes became accustomed to the shape of the room.

  The feet of the adult bed had been screwed down into the wooden floor that lay in the far corner, with the headboard resting against the breeze block wall. Adjacent to it was the smaller bed, in which the daughter now lay. This bed was naturally heavier and difficult for David to move on his own, let alone a teenage girl or her mother.

  There was a single bulb close to where he was sitting but the mother and daughter knew better than to put the light on outside of daytime hours. How did they know that it was daytime if they were cramped into a one-bedroom temporary prison? David had installed a large face clock so that they would keep to his nine until four rule. With the seasons changing, the natural light crept into the room before and after their day and ensured there was another hour in which to absorb their horrific surroundings.

  The ladies were tethered to the bed frames by means of the chains which led to their ankles. The number of links meant that they could freely stand and walk an arc within a couple of metres from the main wooden door to use the chamber pot which was on the floor in the opposite corner of this underground cellar.

  All had become used to their mind-numbing routines. David had attempted to build-up a library for his captives and collect the various magazines which they requested. As a television or video had been out of the question he had borrowed a portable DVD player and provided films that had been subtitled.

  The situation had become out of his control. Originally believing that he just had to ensure that the mother and daughter were to be kept safe for a couple of nights, (“It’s for their own good you know,” the controller had said), the current scenario had escalated beyond his worst fears.

  The couple of days had drawn into a week, the week into a few weeks and now the mother and daughter had been held captive against their will for over two months. The situation had to end and it had to end soon.

  The predicted, and actual, arrival of the freighter had led David to believe that the end was in sight. He could feel it, sniff it and taste it. The way in which other people were acting signified that there would be a defined sense of closure to this episode in his life. Perhaps then he could leave this messy juncture and stop hiding his horrible secret world that was required for his get rich quick plan.

  David began to cry. A quiet, sobbing, sniffling sound that was not quite a weeping but all his pent up emotion over the years seemed to escalate into these long drawn out gentle sobs. He had nobody to comfort him. David, the orphan, felt alone and isolated in the world. He had gone down a route of his choosing and it was leading him to destruction. He had to get out but how?

  Chapter 66

  Emma felt good, and it was not only Emma who was thinking this. Archie was absorbing her breath on his neck. Drinking in her body, her curves, her warmth. She felt cosy. She fitted into him. She helped to make him feel complete.

  At the same moment, as the van had rapidly escaped from the Student Union car park with his former team mate, the murderer Betts behind the wheel, stirred enormous emotion within him.

  After being taken off the mission by Commander Edgar Bennett, Malcolm had sought to push the whole episode in the Alps from his mind. Try as he might, he was unable to hide and temper his feelings from Emma. She asked him what was wrong. Archie shrugged. He could not put into words what was building up inside him. Instead, Archie remained aloof and stated that he could not explain but that it was nothing to do with her.

  Archie suggested they go inside out of the cold. Emma had cooled down so immediately agreed.

  “I could do with a hot drink, Archie, as well as a hot man!”

  Archie was taken aback. Here was this beautiful, gorgeous, lovely girl who had just jokingly complimented him and was clearly enjoying his company.

  He chuckled “I don’t know about the last bit, but let’s get out of here; I’ll show you where I live.” He hastily added, “There’s no compulsion to come in but I do have a very comfortable sofa, so you can have my bedroom and I’ll sleep in the lounge.”

  “OK, you’ve twisted my arm,” laughed Emma.

  Archie and Emma walked hand in hand down to the Hard and continued past the seafront and the Portsmouth fortifications to the entrance of Archie’s block of flats. Archie was on a high. The alcohol he had consumed gave him a rosy glow, but the main reason for his high spirits was Emma. Their early relationship seemed to be blossoming. Yes, he wanted to know her more in every way, but he did not want to lose her or rush becoming acquainted with her. By understanding her and knowing her properly, he would treasure the unravelling of this special girl.

  Once in his flat, Archie made them both hot chocolates and Emma remained shy and observant and told Archie how she had ended up studying geography at Portsmouth University. The darkness of the night could not hide the glinting masts of the yachts moored up in Haslar Marina, their hulls quietly floating on the opposite side of the Portsmouth Harbour entrance.

  Whilst enjoying the coastal location of Portsmouth, Emma was not a great seafarer. Time spent in her youth with her family crossing the Channel on one of the many ferries had always caused her to react to the up and down motion of the waves and tides. Despite attempting different tactics of eating or not eating prior to the crossings, taking sea sickness pills and seeking the fresh-air of the deck, the travelling by boat eleme
nt of those holidays had never been much fun. Archie was amused that she always felt seasick on the water that they were both gazing at.

  Emma made a point of not going on boats anymore, in her holiday time or otherwise. She was in her element jogging along the sea-front on her weekly run to Eastney and back. The wind never seemed to be completely calm and the number of watercraft off the shore always meant that the view across to the Isle of Wight was filled with activity and interest. Passing Southsea Pier there would be the amusements, candy floss and rock sellers. The fish and chip shops would come next before watching the putters on the seafront golf course. She enjoyed these times, not having to worry about her coursework or the next assignment as she was taking in the comings and goings of the sea-craft and the seafront, and the distance would fly under her running shoes.

  As Emma opened up, Archie was impressed by her get up and go. It matched his. Archie and Emma had much in common and this was especially apparent when she turned to winter sports. When Emma told Archie of her recent family holiday and how she and her two brothers had come to be within an orange winter survival bag on the side of the mountain below the Glacier de Bellecote, Archie did not know where to put himself or how to respond. He did what he knew best, he listened. He took in every word, the shape of her lips, the truthful and open eyes, the warmth and love for her family, the fighting spirit.

  Emma was absorbing this wonderful man concentrating immensely on her every word. She knew there was more, and she had been waiting to find a moment to understand fully what had happened that night.

  “You were there, Archie, weren’t you?”