They retraced their steps.
“The boss is going to be very upset when he sees this,” the man with the gun said, once they’d come upon Harry.
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” said Abby. “Right as rain soon enough.”
“I meant about the vase,” the man said, stepping over Harry without concern.
“Bloody hell, you henchmen need to learn some compassion,” said Abby.
“It was you who put him on the floor,” scoffed the henchman.
“Yes, but still, he’s still one of your work colleagues,” Abby admonished. “It’s sort of sad that I’m more concerned about him than you are. I’ll bet your work Christmas parties are a right laugh,” she said, with no intent to hide the sarcasm.
“Holiday party. They’re called holiday parties now,” the brute said matter-of-factly. “To be more inclusive.”
They were escorted into a formal dining room where Mr Esposito sat in isolation, at the top of a dining table that warranted a state banquet. He looked both somewhat surprised to them and a touch annoyed that his meal had been interrupted.
This was not entirely lost on the brute. “Boss,” he said, his voice betraying his unease. “I caught these two trying to make a break for it.”
Mr Esposito lowered his fork. “Is that so, ladies?” he said. “Is my hospitality not to your liking?” he asked, with what sounded very much like sincerity. He pushed his chair back and wiped his mouth with a crisp white napkin. “Well. What to do with you two,” he said, walking towards them now.
He had an air of something about him. A style and elegance, which, if he weren’t a crime boss, could easily come across as charming.
The fight had left Abby, fully aware of what this man could do — or, at least, have performed on his behalf — with a snap of his fingers.
“Let us go,” Abby pleaded pathetically. “Please. We’ve done nothing wrong,” she said. “She didn’t even know what her sister was up to,” she added, looking to Madeline.
Madeline said nothing. She knew it was useless to plead.
Mr Esposito gave a wry smile and returned to his seat. “Soon,” was all he said, picking his fork up and setting upon his meal once again.
Abby caught a flicker of movement through a glass door in the far corner of the room. She held her breath when she caught a glance of the same two men from the garden. She shot a discreet glance to Madeline, who gave a quick, knowing nod in return. The two men were running in their direction, towards the door. Mr Esposito, meanwhile, was focused entirely on his meal.
Abby recoiled slightly. After all, their minder was in possession of a gun.
As the door suddenly opened, the men from the FBI burst into the room, weapons drawn.
“Freeze! FBI!” one of the agents shouted, as this is what one might ordinarily be expected to say under such circumstances.
Abby took this as her lead and clenched her fist and swung it like a wrecking ball, catching her captor firmly in his wrecking balls.
He howled when the pain in his groin reached his brain (which, despite the lengthy trip, was quite fast in this instance).
Mr Esposito, for his part, set his cutlery on the table, placing it carefully onto a cloth napkin. Despite the care in which he did this, however, he performed this action with haste.
Mr Esposito was unaccustomed to finding himself at a disadvantage. “Gentlemen…” he began hesitantly.
“FBI!” shouted the shouting man, once again. “You bunch of thieving bastards are coming with us!”
Mr Esposito, after appraising the situation, regained his composure more rapidly than one might expect. He gave the two men a look that would freeze molten lava.
“Think very carefully about your course of action here, gentlemen. I can promise you that continuing on in this fashion will not be beneficial to your career progression. Or, for that matter, your overall health.”
The two men looked like naughty boys who’d been caught stealing conkers. They lowered their weapons as well as their heads.
“What the fuck are you two doing??” shouted Abby.
The first FBI man, the shouting one, placed his weapon back inside his jacket. “Sorry, boss. But, we just, you know, got into character,” he said. “Didn’t we?” he added, hoping his mate would back him up.
“Yes, boss,” the other FBI man replied weakly, without looking up. “I think… I think it’s the outfits that does it,” he offered.
“It’s definitely the outfits,” the first agreed, eager to place blame. “These black suits, they have an effect on you. You can’t—”
“These damn black suits,” the second cut in.
“Yeah,” said the first, as if this were all the justification needed to explain their actions away.
Abby looked at Madeline. “What the actual fuck?” she mouthed.
Mr Esposito continued his glare and the two men’s legs were buckling like that of a punch-drunk boxer. “And where is our Emma Hopkins?” he asked finally, in a tone so casual as to drip menace.
“We don’t know yet,” replied the braver of the two, the shouter. “But we made contact with some pathetic excuse for a private dick who’s been—”
The man stopped in full flow as the phone in his pocket rang. He held his finger aloft to Mr Esposito. “One second, boss. Sorry. There’s only one person that knows this number,” he said in expectation. He cleared his throat, effecting a change to a more professional persona.
“Yes. This is Agent Weiss,” he said in an authoritative manner. He listened to a voice on the other end for several moments before speaking again. “Sam who?” he asked the caller, whilst raising his thumb in delight for the watching audience. His mate was now clinging to his arm like a first date at a horror movie.
“Ah,” he said. “Sam. Yes, I remember now. Of course.” He bobbed his head as he soaked up every word.
“You’re in danger?” he repeated, echoing the caller’s words. The FBI man smiled. “Yes, we know you’re in danger,” he said, throwing Mr Esposito a knowing glance. “We know you’re in danger because you’re dealing with one of the cleverest, most innovative, and most powerful criminals the world has ever seen,” he elaborated, glancing again to his boss for approval, hoping the shameless fawning would please him.
Abby didn’t want to believe what she was seeing. She moved a pace forward. “Sam!” she screamed. “They’re not what you—!”
Her minder grabbed her in a headlock and used his spare hand to cover her mouth. Mr Esposito waved his hand like swatting a fly, resulting in Abby being dragged from the room.
The FBI man continued his phone conversation. “That? Oh, that was nothing. The television. A thriller is on. Yes. Now. Now, we can’t help you unless we have Emma Hopkins,” he said. “Ah-ha,” he said. “Ah-ha. Okay. So you’re with Emma Hopkins now? Excellent. This is good news. Yes. Of course we’ll meet you. When and where?”
He put the phone back in his pocket and delayed his response for maximum impact.
“Well?” asked Mr Esposito.
“Well, boss. We’re due to meet Emma Hopkins,” he said, looking at his watch. “In about two hours’ time. In two hours, Mr Esposito, I’ve got a funny feeling that the actual FBI’s star witness is going to be reluctant to do any more talking.”
“You said you weren’t going to hurt her!” cried Madeline. “Just let her go, with me. We’ll disappear. You’ll never hear from us again!” she pleaded. Despite her earlier resolution that pleading was, at this point, useless… what else was there to do?
Mr Esposito reflected for a moment before responding. “I said I would not hurt her? Interesting. Because that does not sound like something I would say at all,” he said. “No matter. Madeline,” he continued. “What I can promise is that you, your sister, and our other guest here will most certainly disappear. And I am reasonably confident that I will absolutely never hear from any of you again. What is more, and of equal importance, is that the FBI will also not be hearing from any of you again
.”
“Now. Where are we meeting them?” he said to ‘Agent Weiss.’
“We can handle this for you, boss,” Agent Weiss replied.
“I will be accompanying you,” Mr Esposito insisted. “I have got entirely too much at stake here. I need to make certain that there are no further distractions. Before we go, please can you make arrangements with your associates Mr Montgomery and Mr Schmidt to take our two guests for a drive on this beautiful island? Somewhere quiet would be preferable,” he said. “Somewhere peaceful. For a nice rest.”
Mr Esposito smiled sunnily as he walked towards the two men. He put one hand on each of their shoulders. “I never thought I would say this. But, today, the FBI have very much helped me out of a delicate situation. Good work, gentlemen. Good work!”
Chapter Thirteen
Into the Sea
I can’t get used to these stupid cars having their steering wheel on the wrong side,” said Mikey, also struggling with the gear stick. “And what’s with these roads? They’re so freaking narrow. And it’s like a ghost town. There’s nobody round, except for sheep. For Christ’s sake, I need to get back to the city. To civilisation.”
Joey had switched Mikey off, and his head was rested against the passenger side window. He’d never seen anything as beautiful as this island. Wherever he looked, it was green and surrounded on all sides by rolling countryside. I love this, this feeling of open space, he thought. I could live here.
“You didn’t forget the shovel?” asked Mikey, but no response was forthcoming. “Joey,” he said, louder, finally getting his partner’s attention.
“No, I didn’t forget it. I told you, it’s in the trunk. Along with a bag of lime,” Joey replied, then returned his attention to the scenery flashing by as they sped through yet another winding country lane. “The countryside here is amazing,” he said, absently.
“You got that right,” said Mikey. He was in agreement as to the many acres of unspoilt land, though for an entirely different reason. “That’s the one good thing about this godforsaken backwater. You don’t have to drive too far to find somewhere to bury a stiff. Speaking of which…” He looked in the rear-view mirror and chuckled at the two pillowcase-covered figures staring back. “Whaddaya think, ladies?” he said. “You two should be grateful that this car has tinted windows. Otherwise, you’d both be in the trunk with the shovel and the lime.”
Frantic muffled noises issued forth from the pillowcases. Neither Abby nor Madeline were able to move, given the generous application of duct tape to their ankles and wrists. Duct tape truly was a miracle invention.
“You definitely brought the shovel?” Mikey asked yet again.
“Why would I forget the shovel?” Joey was letting his irritation show. “What is with you and the shovel?”
“You’re going to have to do the digging, Joey,” Mikey told him. “Just so you know. Since I’ve had this sciatica, I’d be in bed for days if I overexert myself.”
“What? You think I’m digging two holes myself? That’s not happening. Why don’t we just throw them in the sea? There was sea near Laxey.”
“What’s a Laxey? Anyway, there’s sea everywhere,” replied Mikey.
“Don’t be dim,” said Joey. “It can’t be everywhere.”
There was a twinkle in Mikey’s eye. He was trying to be clever now. Which was a dangerous thing. “Joey, you do realise what an island is, don’t you?”
“Of course I know what an island is,” replied Joey flatly.
“Well?” prompted Mikey.
Joey didn’t take the bait. He was not in the mood.
Mikey continued to chuckle. He was very pleased with himself. “Joey,” he said. “An island is something that’s surrounded by water.”
There was nothing worse than an idiot who truly believes he is clever. “I’ll be throwing you in the water,” Joey assured him. “So, for real, though. Why don’t we throw them in the water?”
Mikey thought for a moment. “Well, we haven’t got a boat.”
“Just throw them in,” replied Joey. “The tide will carry them out.”
Mikey shook his head. “No, we’d need to take them out, at least a good five-hundred meters. We don’t want these two washing back up to shore. At least not until we’re thousands of miles away from this shithole.”
“You can at least dig one of the ditches, then,” Joey responded. “Sciatica or no. Fair is fair.”
“Joey, you only need to dig one ditch. One big ditch!” Mikey explained. “Besides, we’ve only got the one shovel, What am I supposed to do? Dig a hole with my paws, like a dog? See? My logic is perfect. You can’t escape it.”
“So where am I going to dig this hole?” Joey asked, resigned to his fate. “We can’t just keep driving around aimlessly. We should ask for directions.”
“Are you freaking’ kidding me?” said Mikey. “You want me to pull the car over and ask for directions? To what, exactly? A nice, out-of-the-way place to bury two bodies? Let’s ask one of these nice sheep farmers. Maybe they’ll even help us dig the hole!”
Joey sank into his seat. “Okay, okay, but we can’t just drive around forever. It’s not fair on them.”
“On them? Them, who?” Mikey replied, perplexed.
“The ladies,” Joey answered, pointing a thumb in the direction of the back seat.
“Not fair on them? What does fair have to do with anything? Trust me, this does not have a happy ending for them any way you slice it. So, this driving around is the least of their worries. Over there,” said Mikey as he fought with the gear stick, once again. He slowed the car and turned into an even narrower country lane. Judging by the hammering the suspension was currently being subjected to, this was clearly a lane more suitable for agricultural traffic.
“Where are we going?” asked Joey.
“Who’s doing the driving?” replied Mikey. “I’m doing the driving,” he said, answering his own rhetorical question. He motioned with his head. “Up there,” he said. “That old building will be perfect. There are plenty of trees for cover. And, from the looks of the place, nobody is going to bother you while you’re digging.”
The lane stretched up, following the contour of the steep incline, and was a gateway into the beauty of the Island. From their elevated position, Joey looked down on the glorious valley where the sun radiated off a reservoir in the distance. They turned off the path halfway up the hill, which was fortunate, as the track was all but impassable. Trees peppered the field, with some looking like they’d surveyed this landscape for hundreds of years. Many of them were distorted, as if pushed over — likely from the ardent winds that’d whipped up from the valley and battered them over the decades.
A dilapidated stone building had the privilege of this vista all to itself. Its footprint was small, probably only big enough to provide the former occupant a room to sleep and room to light a fire. The area was exposed, and in a harsh winter this idyllic spot would have been open to the elements. The stone walls were built to last, over two feet thick, and they’d survived longer than the doors and roof which has long since succumbed to the elements.
“I could live here,” said Joey, taking a lungful of the bracing Manx air.
“Is there anywhere you wouldn’t live, here on this crummy island?” said Mikey.
“I’d live anywhere at all. Anywhere you weren’t,” Joey replied.
Mikey wasn’t listening. “Get the shovel out of the car and we can dig here,” he said, kicking out at the softer soil. “You get digging and I’ll wait in the car and keep an eye on these two.”
Before Joey had time to protest, Mikey was back in the car, seat reclined, shoes kicked off, and his feet planted on the dashboard.
“Douchebag,” announced Joey, loud enough to be heard, as he pressed his foot down to remove the first sod from the ground. The earth was pleasingly forgiving. He’d had to complete this task previously — in cold weather — and frost on the ground was a nightmare for causing blisters. It wasn’t al
l bad for Joey, he supposed. He was getting some exercise, and, as far as views from the office went, today’s was perfectly palatable.
In no time at all he was knee-high in the ditch, with its former contents sat neatly in a pile and ready to be thrown back in when required. He saw a shimmer of silver and crouched down to pluck an object from the dirt. His heart skipped as his spat on his thumb and used the sizeable digit to wipe away the excess soil. It was a coin.
Joey was delighted, holding the coin up to the sunlight to get a clearer view. He wasn’t familiar with the local currency, so he was unable to discern if he’d found a relic, cast aside, hundreds of years ago, or merely some child’s pocket money. No matter. Joey placed it in his pocket for later inspection. He looked at his watch and became conscious of how long their guests had been sitting in the back of the car. Joey never liked to keep a lady waiting. It was bad manners.
“Hello, friend,” said a perky voice.
Joey nearly had a coronary. He dropped his shovel and jumped out of his expanding hole, like a rat up a drainpipe. He couldn’t see anyone. He thought Mikey was messing with him but ruled this out when he could just make out a vague, fleshy outline through the tinted glass. The sound of snoring from the car’s front seat confirmed that Mikey was not the owner of the voice.
Joey held his arm aloft and used his hand to deflect the sun from his eyes. He scoured the field once again, but still nothing. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but he could just make out a figure — dressed head-to-foot in camouflage — moving toward him. The figure blended perfectly to the backdrop, so the clothing had served its purpose quite successfully.
The figure moved closer and appeared to be brandishing a weapon. Joey placed his hand inside his jacket and prepared to draw his firearm.
“Hello, friend,” the voice — now audibly male — called out once again.
Joey was milliseconds away from having to find space to accommodate a third corpse. Whether it was the scenery or the fresh air, Joey was feeling charitable, and he delayed unleashing a volley of lead. Despite this, the sight of the camouflage, eventually — for it was particularly good — filled him with panic. Were the Army onto him? He thought for a second, ticking off various modes of response, and he weighed his options.
The Seaside Detective Agency Page 13