by Dee Palmer
“I wasn’t going to…I mean I probably wasn’t going to if everyone paid up…I needed the money. The Feds took everything from Richard’s business, and half of that was mine!” His voice steadily rises in volume until it sounds more like a screeching girl than a thirty-something-year-old, weak excuse for a man. He gulps for air as he makes a piss poor case of defending himself. “I had to leave the States with nothing. I just want what’s mine. I want my lifestyle back. I want my houses not a crappy apartment or this shit hole. I want nice clothes.” I’m surprised he doesn’t stamp his foot to punctuate his brat-like tirade.
“Had a lifestyle.” I point out with utter contempt. “And the only clothes you need to worry about are ones that will fit snug, a tight wooden box.”
“You’re not going to kill me,” he states with a misplaced degree of certainty. His voice waivers and his words are more like a plea, which I don’t waste a breath to acknowledge, but he’s persistent. “I know you…you’re not a murderer.” I respond with a bitter laugh, filled with derision.
“You threaten my wife. You have no idea what I am capable of.” I grind my teeth as I spit the words with venom. “How many people have you tried to blackmail with this video?” He only pauses for a second before he wisely answers my question.
“Fifteen others and you.” He tries to lower his head, avert his eyes. I jab the gun in his throat, and he struggles to swallow against the hard metal tip marking his skin.
“Has everyone paid?”
“Yes.” He chokes out a cough, his voice is hoarse. I don’t ease off the pressure. “There are some high profile people in that clip. Richard went to a good school.”
“That produced arseholes,” I reply flatly.
“I went to that school!” I ignore the chance to state the fucking obvious, because they clearly produced idiots too.
“Who else is going to come crawling out of the woodwork, Stanford? I’m having a tough time believing you’re the mastermind behind all this.” I glance at the table with the computer and over my shoulder at plan B.
“I’m a fucking genius, arsehole. I’m the brains, Richard was the charm.” I burst out with a hollow laugh even though I know he’s not being ironic. I arch my brow and quirk my lips in a condescending smile that seems to make his cheeks heat and his eyes flash with fury.
“Of course.” I nod my head lightly. If I had a free hand, I would pat him on the head, but my hands are full, and my fingers are twitchy. “Is the video file just on these machines? Do you have an external drive?”
“I don’t have to tell you shit. I have my money now that Chirstov has paid.” He tempers his attitude when I nudge the gun against the underside of his chin. His tongue swipes his lips, and he forces a slow breath out through his pursed lips. “You can relax. I don’t need plan B after all.” His mouth slides into a grin, and I’m astounded he thinks it’s that fucking simple. I level my eye along the barrel, the other eye closes as I pull it away from his throat. The blurred metal sight at the nib of the shotgun becomes crystal clear. I squeeze the trigger and fire at the gap between his legs. This close, the noise is like a bomb exploding in the room. My eardrums ache and my brain shakes in my head. There’s a mass of wooden shrapnel and flying splinters, which I hope have pierced his bollocks and nailed his dick to the floor. He cries out in agony and his hands fly too late to protect is crown jewels.
“Sorry…you were saying?” He whimpers and is quick to answer me this time.
“It’s on that one and I keep a copy in my case, that’s it. You can take them both.” His lips tremble and his whole body is shaking.
“How very kind.” I spit my words with vitriol, my smile as cold as his eyes. I hate that I even have to look at him, but now I’m wondering what’s my plan B.
I spend twenty minutes securing Stanford to the sturdiest oak chair outside of the ones I have in my London dungeon.
“One thing, Stanford, since you ‘know me’, you will also know I excel with ropes and knots. I would normally check your circulation, although in this instance I don’t give a shit if you pass out or bleed out, and there is nothing normal about this situation. What I do care about, however, is that I know you won’t escape…ever.” I pat his cheek and start to pack away all the computers to take with me.
“What are you going to do?” Stanford splutters as I make one last sweep of the room. I have already spent way too much time here but I’m at least satisfied I have everything now. I’m just sad I don’t have time to hide the body. Still that’s what friends are for.
“I’m going to get married.” It’s my first real smile today, and it feels so damn good I hold it there.
“What about me? You know someone will find me here. It’s not so rural that I don’t get visitors.” He tries to straighten himself only the ties don’t allow for any movement when he boasts. “A postman comes here every day and then—”
“Let me stop you there before you think your threats will do anything other than make me laugh.” I grab the back of his chair, tilt it and drag him into the kitchen. He squeals but stops when he realizes I’m not dropping him, just relocating him. I place the chair in the centre of the room and walk around to face him. “You were wrong about one thing, Stanford, when you said you knew me. Very wrong.” I pause and take a long look at the motherfucker who threatened the woman I love and would have done so much worse if the scum he was trying to blackmail refused to pay. I draw in a breath at the sickening thought and exhale slowly before I speak. I can see from the tension in his jaw, he is holding his breath, waiting. “I wouldn’t think twice about killing you, Stanford, but today is my wedding day, and I’m too tight on time.” He lets out a puff of air that almost makes me smile.
“Oh thank you!” His words escape with a nervous laugh.
“Oh you shouldn’t.” My voice drops low. “You really shouldn’t.” He loses what faint colour he had to his sweat-smeared skin “I said I didn’t have time, but you are going to die today. As the brains, this shouldn’t come as a surprise.” My tone is a mix of mock shock and caution. “You threatened some very unsavoury individuals Stanford. Christov, in particular, was more than happy to learn of your location.”
“No…no, please. You don’t have to do this.” He shakes his head as I hold the rope up to his mouth to finish up and gag the motherfucker.
“I think you’ll find I do…I really do.” He turns his head this way and that, his voice pitched with panic and fear.
“You’re a good man, Jason, don’t leave me to die,” he garbles as I thrust the rope roughly between his lips and tie it fast and tight, blood trickles at the corner of his mouth where the twine splits his lips. His words are now incomprehensible, not that anyone would need to be ‘the brains’ to get the gist of what he’s begging for. I lean down so we are close, eye to eye, and I whisper.
“You threatened the woman I love. I was a good man, now…now I’m a very bad man.”
These narrow lanes are the worst. I can’t pass the slow car in front and I still can’t get a fucking signal to call Will and let him know I’m running late. Not too late, and if I could get a decent stretch of road, I could probably make up the time. I texted a message before I left the cottage, which I hope will send as soon as that magical one bar appears, even if I am driving. I don’t want Sam waiting at the altar when Will can just stall for fifteen minutes, maybe half an hour, so I can change. Dammit! I slam my brakes on as a tractor pulls out just in front of me and on a blind bend. Not what I need.
I can feel my blood pressure rising with every false rev of my engine and tease that there is enough of a safe gap to try and overtake. How long is this fucking road exactly? We reach the brow of the hill at a steady, exasperating 25 miles per hour when I catch a break. The tractor steers into a lay-by to let me pass, and I let my heavy foot hit the floor, naught-to-fucking-get-me-to-the-alter-on-time in three point two seconds.
In the distance, I can see a car on the verge with its hazard lights on. The road narrows a
nd dips, it’s possibly the worst place to break down, poor bugger. I slow down a little as I pass. The young woman has a baby in her arms and two children pressed flat against the hedgerow. There are no cars ahead and nothing in my rear-view. Shit.
I break and shift my car into reverse. Twisting round, I drive my car back to park it just in front of the woman’s minivan.
I check my phone, my message is still in the draft folder waiting to send and the signal bars remain depressingly flat. The woman bursts into tears as soon as I round her car.
“Oh God, thank you for stopping. I haven’t seen a single car in twenty minutes, and before that, only two, and neither of those fuckers stopped to help.” She wipes the back of her hand over her cheek and continues to jiggle the crying baby in her arms.
“Mummy you said a bad word.” The little boy tugs at her coat and shuffles closer to her side when he looks up at me.
“I know I did, sweetheart. Mummy’s just upset.” She smiles tightly at the child, but keeps her voice low and soothing. It’s impressive because even I can see she is strung out, scared, and anxious.
“I won’t tell.” The child says, as if that is going to be a big comfort, and she smiles softly at him.
“Thank you, Billy. And I will try not to say another bad word. Hold your sister’s hand like I told you, this is a very dangerous road.” Billy instantly looks terrified and squishes himself and his sister flush against the hedgerow as they had been when I drove past.
“Nobody stopped, hmm?” I rub the back of my neck, which is tight and feels like concrete. I may well have shared the other drivers’ unchivalrous behaviour, if only for a second. “Well, I stopped, so what’s the problem?”
“No signal.”
“You stopped here because you have no signal?”
“No, I have a flat tire, and I can’t get help because I have no signal.” She looks at me like I might not be quite right in the head, but it’s been a long morning, so I’m going to cut myself some slack that I’m a little slow on the uptake.
“Oh right…of course. Me neither.” I shrug and her shoulders drop like the weight of her child has increased tenfold. “However, I can change a tire. Give me a minute.” I run back to my car and quickly set up the hazard triangle and then escort the woman and her kids along the road and into a field, a safe distance from any traffic.
There is no fucking way I’m getting to the hotel in time for the ceremony now. I just hope this is a good enough excuse to keep Sam from cutting my bollocks off…or worse.
The wheel is stubborn, and I slice my finger, knuckles, and back of my hand several times trying to remove it and mount the spare. I’m glad Billy is no longer in earshot because I have pretty much exhausted every bad word I know. I replace the jack in the back of her car and slam the boot shut.
“It’s all done.” I shout out and watch to see the young woman’s head peek out from behind the hedge. She smiles but doesn’t reply, only nodding her head for me to come to her. Sure, why not? It’s not like I have to be anywhere.
“Sorry, my Elsie has fallen asleep, and I can’t carry them both.” Her thin smile mixes perfectly with her eyes to look deeply apologetic. She still has the baby in her arms, swaying her hips and lightly bouncing the bundle. Billy is dozing by the tilt of his head, but his sister is flat out on her back, on the grass. Her blonde curls partly cover her eyes, her cheeks pink and round, and her chubby toddler limbs are flopped wide like her little body just gave up and unconsciousness simply wiped her out. “Can you take the baby and I’ll carry Elsie?”
“Oh um…maybe I should carry Elsie, she’s probably heavier.” I shift and freeze when she holds her arms out with her precious bundle.
“And will make the most noise if she wakes to a stranger carrying her. No, trust me, you’ll be safer with this little one.” She assertively hands me the baby, swaddled in a blanket and very much awake. Big watery blue eyes stare right through me. Do all babies do that? It’s unnerving.
“Oh he’s only two months old so focus is sort of new to him. There’s lots of staring, some smiling and whole heap of screaming. You can relax; he won’t puke or anything. Well, probably won’t puke.” She laughs lightly, and I flash a quick but petrified smile. I didn’t even realize I asked that question out loud, and I feel anything other than relaxed. I do, however, feel tense, uncertain, and awkward…unbelievably awkward. We walk back to her car, and I’m holding this new baby like it’s a ticking bomb. Every step I take is soft and carefully placed, no sudden movements, and I’m barely breathing.
“Not held many babies?” She grins and raises a brow with her query.
“That obvious?”
“You look just like my husband with our first. You get used it.” She snickers and her smile is more relaxed now she is no longer stranded.
“I hope so.” I swear this baby hasn’t blinked once. Is that normal?
“Oh are you expecting?” Her interest pitches her voice sharp and loud.
“Yeah…our first…Kind of a surprise.” I hand the baby over once she has secured her other children. She takes the little boy and flips and scoops him into her arms, and then manoeuvres him into his car seat. The whole time, I’m holding my breath as I expect him to slip, fall, or at least crack his head on the car door. Parenthood is going to kill me.
“They are always a surprise, even when they are planned.” She chuckles. “Thank you so much…?” She pauses with an expectant smile, and I think it must be me with the baby brain since it takes long seconds to click on what she is waiting for,
“Jason. Sorry, I’m Jason.” I hold out my hand and she grabs and shakes it warmly.
“Well, thank you, Jason. Thank you so much. Your wife is a very lucky woman.”
“If she forgives me enough to say ‘I do’ that is.” I’m only half joking, and she frowns at my quip so I enlighten her. “It’s my wedding day today and…” I glance at my watch and get a painful hit to my chest that I would’ve been married for just under an hour…woulda…shoulda. Fuck.
“Oh no…you stopped to help me on your wedding day. Oh no!” She clasps her hand to her face, and the anguish I feel is reflected in her eyes. “If you need me to corroborate your story I will, if she doesn’t believe you, I mean.”
“I don’t doubt she’ll believe me, since trust is not an issue with us, but whether she forgives me? Now that I may need a little help with.” I wave her off and run back to my car. Not that running will help me now. I need more than speed, I need divine intervention or a time travelling Tardis.
I swing the car around the sharp right-hand turn to the drive that leads to the hotel and instantly swerve to avoid the ambulance at my front bumper, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision. What the fuck? My heart clenches and my head pounds with possibilities, none of which are good. I am torn between following the blues and twos screeching off in the distance and racing to the hotel and hopefully getting some answers that aren’t going to destroy me. I hope Sam’s okay, Christ I hope the baby is…Shit I just can’t go there. Being late for my own wedding has to rank pretty high in the spectrum of stress inducing situations. What if Sam—No. I can’t even think about that. She has to be okay…She just fucking has to be. I can see Will on the steps of the hotel. He’s alone and the car park that should be full, is empty. I pull up, blocking the entryway and leap from the car, only then does my phone spring to life with a chorus of rapid fire notifications that sound like a fistful of fire crackers has exploded in my jacket.
There’s little point reading them now, Will’s face says it all and it’s not good, not good at all.
“Where’s Sam?” I call to him over the noise of the car door slamming.
“What?” His face is pale and shifts from a tense worry to confused in a flash.
“Not a trick question, Will. Who’s in the fucking ambulance? Is Sam all right? The baby?” I hurl my questions at him, barely drawing breath or giving him time to answer.
“What?”
“Say that
one more time, I dare you.” I snap now that I am eye-to-eye and brimming with anxious hostility. It might be misplaced, but right now, he is the only target and he hasn’t answered a single Goddamn question.
“Sorry man, where the fuck do you think she is? She’s gone.” His dismissive tone is pitched at a level that makes me think I have asked something really stupid and my next question seems to compound his opinion that’s exactly what I am.
“What do you mean gone?”
“We have to get to the hospital, Jason, come on I’ll drive.” He shakes off my question and tries to step around me. I block him with a side step and a firm hand on his chest.
“Will, answer the fucking question!”
“I don’t know where Sam is…She left with Leon when you went AWOL and Mum…Mum is in the ambulance.” He grates out with surprising calm but palpable tension. The worry in his eyes makes me back down despite my blood raging through my veins and curling my fingers into tight fists.
“Mum? Is she all right? What the fuck happened?”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
“I’ll drop you at the hospital then I’m going after Sam. She can’t possibly think I left her? What the fuck gave her that idea?” Will hands me the letter from the clinic. I drag my hand through my hair, my chest aches, and I feel so sick I can’t think straight. I was reading this when I got the message from James but I was so damn angry I didn’t give it another thought. Thought I threw that damn thing away. “Where did you find this?”
“It was in your bin. I noticed Sam look at it, just a glance really, then everything changed. She changed, and that’s when she told Mum she was pregnant.”
“Shit.”
“No that’s not half of it. Mum…” He hesitates and I can see the myriad of unpleasant emotions flash in his eyes and flit across his troubled features. “Mum said she’d never speak to you again for walking out. No one could get hold of you, Jason. Why the fuck would you leave on your wedding day?”