by Matt Drabble
“This is Timothy, my other current guest,” Mrs. Doyle said, introducing the large man. “And you are?”
“Bob,” Jimmy automatically lied as his eyes locked with the other man. Timothy looked familiar and Jimmy was sure that he knew the guy from somewhere but from some time ago. “You on holiday?” he asked the big man, never dropping his gaze.
“Just a stopover on my way home; I’ve been away for a while,” Timothy smiled with a grin that never touched his eyes. “You?”
“Car broke down up the way some. It’s a miracle that I found this place,” Jimmy said as they verbally danced.
“You must be a long way from home,” Timothy said.
Jimmy stared hard back at him. Yeah you’re a bad guy but so am I, but you know that don’t you? he thought. “A little,” he answered.
“We’ll let’s get you dry and I’m sure that you could do with something hot to drink,” Mrs. Doyle said as she motioned for Jimmy to follow. “All of my boys end up here; we’ve had quite the collection over the years.”
“No bags?” Timothy asked Jimmy innocently enough but with a small tight smile.
Jimmy stuck his hand into his pocket subconsciously and squeezed the diamond bag for security. “Left them in the car,” Jimmy shrugged.
“Well I’m sure that we can find you something. You’d be amazed by what some of my boys leave behind in their rooms,” Mrs. Doyle said as she climbed the stairs.
“Don’t I need to sign in or pay?” Jimmy asked.
“Oh we’ll sort all that out later,” she smiled.
An hour or so later, Jimmy climbed out of the bath feeling human again. The diamonds were never out of his sight and the bag sat on a chair in the bathroom, teasing him with their value but dancing out of reach at the lack of Bobby T’s fence. Timothy’s face was the other constant question that fluttered around his mind. He knew that he recognised the man from somewhere but he couldn’t quite place him which was unusual for him; normally he never forgot a face.
He dried and dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms and a hooded top that Mrs. Doyle had provided. They were a little big but they were more importantly dry and warm.
He stuffed the diamond bag into the pocket of his top and exited the bathroom leaving the dirty towel on the floor. He backed into the corridor and followed the noise coming from downstairs.
He found Mrs. Doyle and Timothy sitting in the lounge in front of the TV. They were watching the news that was showing the aftermath of the robbery. Mrs. Doyle tutted and reached out to change the channel.
“No!” Jimmy shouted a little too loudly. “Sorry,” he corrected himself. “I just wanted to catch the story.” He knew that Timothy was looking at him a little too closely and he mentally scolded himself for the slip.
“Such terrible things in this world” Mrs. Doyle said, shaking her head.
Jimmy nodded in agreement as he sat down in one of the plush armchairs.
The news report showed the images from outside the jeweler store. They flashed up family photos of a smiling jeweler and his son, as well as an old mug shot of Bobby T. Interestingly there was no mention of Bobby D or the car that he had abandoned. The reporter did however mention that the police were seeking any information concerning Bobby T’s accomplices, but there were no descriptions.
Jimmy started to wonder if he had even heard sirens on the road when he had abandoned the car and ran off across the moors. Maybe the car that had come up behind them hadn’t even bothered to stop. He knew that he wouldn’t have, there were too many dangerous nutters out there. Maybe Bobby D was still sitting in the car undiscovered; the thought was tantalisingly hopeful.
“Some score I bet you, judging by the coverage,” Timothy said to no one in particular but Jimmy suspected that it was directed at him. “Don’t you think so, James?” he asked, confirming Jimmy’s suspicions.
“It’s Bob,” Jimmy said quietly.
“Oh yes that’s right, Bob,” Timothy grinned to himself.
Jimmy now had no doubt that he knew the guy, but also that Timothy knew him. He racked his memory banks for a name to go with the big guy’s face but still couldn’t place him. It wasn’t made any easier given that most of Timothy’s face was covered in a thick bushy beard obscuring part of his features. Now, sitting closer to him, he could see what might well have been surgical scars around the ears. Scars like that would have been from cosmetic surgery and given Timothy’s relatively young age it seemed more likely that it was surgery aimed at altering his face rather than fighting the ravages of time.
“What would you say to a little hot chocolate, Bob?” Mrs. Doyle asked.
“Sure,” Jimmy replied absently.
“Oh and I’ll get you to sign that pesky checking-in book if you don’t mind, otherwise I’ll have the tax man crawling all over me again.” She laughed but Jimmy wasn’t listening; he was picturing Timothy without the beard and with a slightly different face.
“You know, James, this could be your lucky day,” Timothy said as soon as Mrs. Doyle was out of the room and earshot. “I’m guessing by the look of you when you stumbled in here that your day didn’t quite go as planned, right?”
Jimmy was weighing the guy up when the name popped into his head and straight out of his mouth. “Terry? Terry Daws?”
“Shut the fuck up!” Terry instantly snarled. “You don’t mention that name, not ever, understand?”
“Sure, sure,” Jimmy said soothingly. “Holy crap, I thought that you were off in sunnier climes?”
“Yeah well, I’ve got business back home; I was just hoping to slip in and out without anyone noticing. My old mum’s not so well and it might be my last chance.”
Jimmy sat back in his chair and almost laughed at the sudden upturn in his fortunes. Terry Daws was one of the biggest villains in the area. The guy had been a legend in their business, a legend that only grew in stature when he had pulled off a bank job said to be in the millions and flown the country. This was of particular interest to Jimmy because no one knew more about the business or had more contacts than Terry Daws. The bag full of highly valuable but unloadable diamonds suddenly came back into play.
“Let’s just say for argument’s sake that someone might have a certain bag of valuable possessions but ones from questionable sources?” Jimmy ventured.
“I’m listening,” Terry replied.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Doyle announced as she re-entered the room. She set down a steaming mug of hot chocolate for Jimmy and handed him the checking-in book.
Jimmy took the book and scrawled his name, remembering to stick to the alias. He handed it back to her without paying much attention; something tugged at his mind, something strange, but he ignored it with more pressing concerns at hand.
“Can I get you anything else, Timothy?” she asked Terry.
“A coffee would be lovely,” he answered, eager to get her out of the room again.
As soon as she was gone, Terry leant forward. “Let’s not piss about, Jimmy. I remember you from the old neighborhood. You were just a pup back then but I never forget a face. What have you got?”
Jimmy quickly took the bag from his pocket knowing that the contents were of little use to him without someone to fence them.
“Very nice,” Terry said, holding one up to the light. “Very nice indeed, Jimmy; uncut and almost flawless.”
“What are we looking at?” Jimmy positively drooled.
“Fifty-fifty split, I figure maybe three million apiece,” Terry mused.
“Pounds?”
“No bananas,” Terry scoffed. “I’ll tell you another thing, for a few quid more I could sort out your extrication from the country as well. I can use my guy to get you out before anyone knows that you’re gone.”
Jimmy fought the urge to kiss the man; instead, he wrapped his lips around the hot chocolate barely able to keep his excitement hidden.
Mrs. Doyle appeared again and Terry managed to palm the diamond before she saw it. She sat a cup of cof
fee down on the table next to him and he nodded in thanks.
“Well you boys seem to hitting it off. It’s always nice when my boys have company,” she smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some things to attend to.”
Jimmy watched and held his tongue until she was out of sight. “What about her?”
“What about her?” Terry asked with a raised eyebrow.
“She’s seen my face and yours. I don’t know about you but I don’t want to run that kind of risk, not with three million quid at stake,” Jimmy said seriously.
“You think that you’ve got it in you to do the old lady?”
“Yes.”
“I find that difficult to believe, James,” Terry said, blowing on his coffee and taking a sip. “Give me a reason why you think you’d be up to the task.”
“I’ll give you three million reasons,” Jimmy smiled cruelly. He sat back and drank from his cup feeling more relaxed than ever.
“I suppose it makes sense,” Terry said, yawning.
Jimmy felt his eyelids drooping and realised with horror that he was close to nodding off. He looked down at the mug and it suddenly dawned on him that he had been drugged. “You bastard, Terry,” he slurred. He should have known that it was all going too well. Terry Daws had no doubt made him for a right mug and he was right. Chances were that if he ever woke up again, it would be minus the diamonds. More likely Terry was going to bury him and the old woman before skipping the country again.
He tried to stand and his legs betrayed him. He collapsed to the floor sending the offending mug smashing onto the carpet. He was lying on the floor with the room spinning when he distantly heard a crash and felt Terry inexplicably land next to him on the floor.
The next time Jimmy opened his eyes, he was dimly aware of being dragged across a hardwood floor by his heels. He heard a door open and felt himself being pushed through by elderly, but surprisingly strong, hands. He looked up into the kindly face of Mrs. Doyle that was now creased with straining effort.
“This does get harder every year,” she grunted. “And I’m no spring chicken anymore you know, but don’t worry about the dark, there are plenty of my boys to keep you company down there. Although most probably aren’t that talkative by now.”
As Jimmy felt himself being propelled through the cellar door opening, his first thought was to realise that there were no stairs. His second thought was an odd flashback to earlier when he had been handed the checking-in book. Just before he hit the dirt floor and landed next to Terry’s body he realised there were plenty of names in the checking-in column, but none in the checking-out.
The door closed high above him, extinguishing the last light he would ever see and he prayed that whatever drugs the old woman had given him would take him long before the unmistakable scuttling of his new rodent roommates reached him.
TALE 2.
“LOVE BITES”
Alison’s new boss Dennison had invited the staff out to his country estate for a team bonding session. As it turned out, Tommy hadn’t been invited. Alison had assumed that it was staff plus partners, but the angry stares that he’d garnered when he’d entered the mansion had immediately told him otherwise, Dennison’s especially. As such, he had been relegated to the position of “watcher-on” and “stander-by” while Alison’s team were put through their paces on a specially constructed assault course and complicated team games within the grounds of Mr. Dennison’s estate.
Tommy had little time for Alison’s job and it had been nothing but a cause of conflict between them for months now. He’d suspected her of cheating, of using late nights as a cover for illicit assignations with Dennison. She’d always laughed in his face protesting her innocence and accused him of listening to his chauvinistic instincts. She seemed to do a lot of laughing at him these days.
He’d gone on the trip under protest, wondering the whole way up to the isolated location just why he was bothering at all. The whole drive up she’d had her head stuck in some ridiculous vampire novel with a shirtless pale teenager on the front cover complete with smoldering eyes and a blazing air of vulnerability.
Dennison was a self-made master of his industry, that industry being medical supplies. Alison had been headhunted as the great man’s private assistant and everything was rosy in their garden. The job was a lot more money with perks up the ass including allowances covering clothing, housing and even a car thrown into the bargain. Tommy had been genuinely happy for her, not that his opinion was sought or even considered. Their relationship was mainly based on her wearing the trousers and him being the doormat.
As Alison’s typical workday grew longer and later, their relationship began to fall apart. While they had never been exactly equal partners, there was a sort of bond that strengthened them against the world, but Alison had now overtaken him, spewing gravel in his eyes as she passed and disappeared off into the distance.
He was starting to catch her looking at him out of the corner of her eye with disapproving glances. Suddenly his clothes, hair, and physical conditioning were all wrong for her. She had started trying to subtly rearrange him with a new piece of clothing here and there and the fridge was invaded by strange green things that he did not recognise. He was sure that if he’d felt that her concern was exclusive to his wellbeing he would have been touched, but he was convinced that it was all selfishly motivated. She had the job, the clothes, the car, and the look; all she was missing was the right kind of spouse.
He’d told himself that the work weekend would be the making or breaking of them. He had spent the last few months desperately trying to find the courage to start looking for his self-respect. It had been a long time since he had seen it, but he was sure that it was still inside him somewhere; hopefully, the grave was only a shallow one. The only problem was that he still loved her; maybe it wasn’t the right kind of love, but it existed nevertheless.
It was a weekend that she had stressed was so important, only for him to discover that he hadn’t even been invited. He’d soon found that Alison’s colleagues were cold and unfriendly towards him and he been forced to wander the halls of Dennison’s mansion alone.
During the first night, Dennison had strode proudly around the huge dining room. He was a tall, rakish man with a 90’s ponytail that Tommy found laughable and made the mistake of showing it, much to Alison’s annoyance.
Dennison announced to everyone that the empty seats at the table were vacated by those unable to stay the pace. What had supposed to have been a team bonding exercise was clearly more competitive in nature than the boss had let on. Six of the fourteen staff had already left early and the empty chairs spoke volumes as to the toughness of the day’s events.
The second night their numbers had dwindled further to just a remaining four, and Dennison’s good humor seemed to have grown. Although Tommy was sure that it must have been a trick of the light, the boss seemed a little thicker around the waist than he had the day before.
The third and final night, Alison had dressed carefully for dinner and Tommy couldn’t remember the last time that she had taken as much care for his benefit, although he had to admit that it was probably a long time since he had given her reason to.
Once Dennison had started launching into his spiel about the company mantra and mission statement, Tommy had slipped away quietly, feigning an upset stomach to Alison. The boss man was an interminable bore when he was on a roll and Tommy had already had a gutful. During the first afternoon, he’d noticed Dennison fiddling surreptitiously with his ponytail which had then come off in his hand. A ponytail was one thing, but a clip-on one finished off whatever sliver of respect Tommy might have had for the man.
The Dennison’s ancestral home was a magnificent piece of gothic architecture that Alison fell in love with at first sight. Tommy guessed that it was her love of the fanged genre that drew her imagination to the creepy castle.
He wandered the halls, wondering just what kind of a pretentious prat Dennison really was. The corridors were lin
ed with oil paintings and dusty suits of armor that Tommy assumed were picked up from some local junk shop; he wouldn’t have put it past the blowhard.
He’d wandered aimlessly wasting time and wasting it slowly. Eventually, he’d found himself lost in the great house. His sense of direction wasn’t brilliant at the best of times and he was soon walking blindly. The hallways were long and growing darker the further into the house he went and he had no idea where he was. Dennison supposedly had staff on call but Tommy had yet to see anyone, save for a few flitting shadows out of the corner of his eye.
He heard the soft call of music echoing from somewhere below and without a better plan of action he followed it. He was a man of little imagination and the only problem he saw with descending stone steps into the darkness of a gothic castle was that he feared losing his footing.
He reached the bottom and the music grew louder as he grew closer to the source. He was no expert and could only tell that it was classical in nature. As he moved along the cold stone walled corridor, his nose started to recoil as something assaulted his senses. There was a foul smell coming from somewhere, something decayed and rotting. He wondered just what sort of a sewer system a place as old as this would have and shuddered.
He moved slowly now, unable to turn away from the music despite his simple mind now starting to strike up the band of common sense and deep seated superstition. He reached out as he drew up to a large solid looking wooden door studded with black metal.
The door swung open, minus horror movie creaks, and he found himself staring into a dank room with stone walls and an earth floor. In the centre of the space were…, well he wanted to find a word other than coffin, but they were unmistakable dark oak boxes with brass plaques.