Hot Seat

by Simon Wood

  My good Samaritan jogged across the empty street. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

  ‘Aidy Westlake.’

  ‘I’m Dominic Crichlow.’

  He put out his hand. I went to shake it, but as I extended my hand, Crichlow ignored it and pressed something against my stomach. I heard a click-click sound before electricity coursed through me. Every muscle in my body clenched. My jaw slammed shut, my hands balled into fists, my back arched and my neck snapped back. I tried to pull away, but I remained frozen until I finally gave out and collapsed to the tarmac.

  Feeling leaked back into me. I tried moving, but my body still vibrated to the stun gun’s tune.

  Crichlow rolled me on to my back and taped my hands together in front of me. He produced a hood from his suit jacket pocket and pulled it over my head.

  ‘Stop! You don’t have to do this. You want the car? Take it.’

  ‘Sorry about this, Aidy, but it has to be done.’

  He wrapped his arms around my neck, cutting my breath off. I kicked out, but the strength hadn’t returned to my legs. The sound of my blood pumping roared inside my head. I fought for breath, but the air in my lungs turned sour and burned. My grip on consciousness melted, then I saw blackness darker than the inside of the hood.

  Lap Four

  Abump in the road woke me as my head bounced off the carpeted floorboard. The hood was still on and my wrists were still duct taped. The world was moving underneath me. I was in the BMW’s boot.

  My body ached and I still felt on the verge of throwing up, but the stun gun’s jolt had helped me wise up. It was a shame I hadn’t seen through Crichlow’s little stunt. It was obvious that he’d set the nail strips for me to drive over since his car hadn’t been affected and he had no reason to come back my way. Not that it mattered anymore. He’d gotten what he wanted – me. Now, what did he have planned for me?

  I listened. The engine revved at a constant speed. I felt no rapid acceleration or deceleration. We were on either the motorway or a dual carriageway travelling fast away from my home and safety.

  It was hot under the hood. The thing was sodden from my breathing. He’d taped my hands in front of me, so it wasn’t hard to tug the hood off. It was a relief to breathe unhindered and the rolling nausea and pounding headache eased. I didn’t know if breathing through the hood or Crichlow’s Vulcan death grip had caused the symptoms, but I felt a hell of a lot better with the hood off. I let out an involuntary groan of relief.

  ‘You alive in there?’ Crichlow said. ‘Almost there.’

  What the hell was going on? How had the best day of my life descended into this mess? I didn’t bother him with my questions. I knew they wouldn’t be answered.

  The BMW slowed. It turned right and we left the road for uneven ground judging by the choppy ride. Dirt and gravel peppered the underside of the vehicle.

  The 5-Series rolled to a halt. My heart quickened when the engine stopped. This was it, whatever it was.

  ‘Aidy, do you have the hood on?’ Crichlow asked. ‘It’s important that you don’t know where you are.’

  Unless we were somewhere near famous landmarks, I wouldn’t know where I’d been taken, but I didn’t bother arguing the point and pulled the hood back on. ‘It’s on.’

  Crichlow popped the boot and pulled me from the car. His hands fell on my shoulders. ‘I’m going to guide you. Just walk and I’ll steer you.’

  The whine of a door sliding back told me I was somewhere industrial. I went forward and my footfalls rang out on a concrete floor. It took a couple of seconds before the echo of my footfalls came back to me. This building was big.

  The door drew back behind me and Crichlow tugged the hood off. We were alone in a disused factory.

  Crichlow removed a flick knife. I stiffened at the sight of the four-inch blade. He flashed a hint of a smile at my fear before cutting the tape around my wrists. I peeled it off.

  A bank of fluorescent tubes lit up a portion of the factory. Disabled and derelict machinery stood silently in the shadows and debris covered the floor. A tubular steel chair with a cracked wooden back sat under the lights.

  A stocky man, around fifty, with blond hair emerged from the shadows. Just like Crichlow, he was dressed in a suit. ‘Come have a seat, Aidy.’

  Crichlow gave me a gentle shove and escorted me to the chair. I sat and it creaked under my weight.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘I’m Andrew Gates, Jason’s brother.’

  Oh, shit. An unstable family member. Just what I needed.

  ‘From your expression, I see that my name means something to you.’

  I shook my head. ‘Until now, I didn’t know Jason Gates had a brother. In fact, until a few hours ago I didn’t even know Jason.’

  ‘OK, a quick history lesson,’ Andrew Gates said. ‘I’m a very wealthy man. I earned it the nasty way – from loan sharking – which didn’t exactly endear me to my family. No one wants a monster for a son. My baby brother was different. He loved me, regardless of who I was and what I did. I changed my way of life for him. For the last ten years, I’ve been a reputable property developer. Until tonight.’ He palmed away a tear. ‘What I once was, I am again. Stand up.’

  I put my hands out. ‘Look, I didn’t know your brother.’

  Gates moved in.

  ‘I just found him. Beyond that, I don’t know anything.’

  ‘You heard the boss,’ Crichlow barked. ‘Stand up!’

  Before I could, he jerked the chair out from under me and sent it clattering off into the distance. Gates yanked me up off the ground and before I could say a word, he drove a fist into my stomach. The impact moved something inside me and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to throw up or shit myself. I slithered through Crichlow’s grasp, collapsing on to my knees.

  ‘Get him up.’

  Crichlow lifted me back up on to my feet and held me up by bracing my arms behind me.

  ‘Dawn is a long way off and I can keep this up all night, because I am a very angry and upset man. I don’t think you can, so you need to talk. Someone killed my little brother and I want to know why.’

  Gates underlined his point by slamming his fist into my stomach a second time. I dry-retched against the impact and sagged, but Crichlow kept me from collapsing.

  ‘Did you kill my brother?’

  ‘No. I tried to save him.’

  ‘You did a shitty job,’ Gates said and punched me again.

  I anticipated the blow and tightened my stomach, but it didn’t do me any good and I folded. This time, Crichlow released his hold on me and I dropped to the ground.

  My stomach was red hot from the punishment.

  ‘Talk to me while you still can,’ Gates said.

  He disappeared into the shadows and returned with a toolbox. Panic knifed through me. Tools could be used to build things but, in the right hands, Gates’ hands, they could be used to destroy things.

  He pulled out a five-pound mallet and smashed it against the concrete floor. Concrete chips flew into the air from the impact.

  ‘Hands are important to a driver, aren’t they?’

  Crichlow pushed me forward and kept me pinned with his knee on my neck. He yanked one of my hands out and pressed it to the ground.

  ‘Look, I don’t know what you think happened, but I don’t know anything!’ I yelled.

  Gates pressed down on my wrist and raised the mallet. ‘Did you kill my brother?’

  ‘No!’ I injected every ounce of honesty and truth into that one word.

  Gates froze as he tried to read me and I willed myself to be as transparent as possible so he could see the truth.

  Then he brought the mallet down. It struck the concrete millimetres from my outstretched fingers. The shockwave travelled through my hand and up into my shoulder.

  ‘I’m going to ask you some questions. Answer truthfully and I won’t hurt you. Lie and I’ll make sure you’re never able to pick up a spoon let alon
e hold a steering wheel. Am I clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Get him up, Dominic.’

  Crichlow helped me to my feet and had to support me. The emotional toll had robbed me of my strength.

  Gates reclaimed the chair Crichlow had thrown aside and I fell into it. He found himself another and sat it down opposite me. Only Crichlow stood, like a hawk ready to take down its prey should it decide to run.

  ‘How well did you know my brother?’

  ‘I never met him.’

  ‘You would have liked him. Everyone did, didn’t they, Dominic?’

  ‘They did,’ Crichlow said.

  ‘He was an honest, decent person. Everything I could never be.’ Gates’ eyes shone with tears and pride. This sign of his humanity failed to relax me. His brother’s death had left him wounded. That made him dangerous.

  ‘Tell me what happened.’

  I replayed it for him the same way I had for the police. That I’d returned to the transporter to see my name. How I’d found his brother, how I’d tried to save his brother’s life and how I’d heard footsteps of someone running away.

  The details of Jason’s death tore into Gates. I watched how my words blew holes in him. I understood the pain of losing a loved one. I’d been lucky in comparison. I was a child when my mum and dad died. I wasn’t able to understand the enormity of that mammoth loss then. My loss was drip-fed to me as I reached the various milestones of my life – they weren’t there at school sports day and PTA meetings, when my first girlfriend dumped me, when I passed my driving test, when I took part in my first race, or today when I stepped on to the stage for my interview. I’d suffered incremental awareness of what it was to be an orphan. The pain of losing them was cushioned by having my grandfather, Steve, raise me. Andrew Gates wasn’t so lucky. His loss had been delivered both barrels full in the face. I pitied the poor sod. Almost.

  ‘What did the cops say?’

  ‘Not a lot. They asked the same questions as you.’

  ‘You were in the cop shop a long time,’ Crichlow said.

  It was the first time Crichlow had gotten in on the questioning. Maybe he saw the cracks forming in his boss.

  The cop shop question brought up a big point. They had to have been watching the police station to know that I was the one the police were questioning about Jason’s murder. Maybe they had someone on the inside feeding them information. If so, it certainly wasn’t Huston or O’Neal or anyone connected to the investigation or Gates would already know the answers to these questions.

  ‘Are you a witness or something more?’ Crichlow asked.

  The question snapped Gates out of his sorrow. His body stiffened. I had to tread carefully around this point. The bloodlust was back in his eyes.

  ‘They treated me like a suspect.’

  Gates’ words came out cold and hard. ‘Are you still one?’

  ‘You’ll have to ask them.’

  ‘I’m asking you.’

  ‘They didn’t hold me and they didn’t tell me not to leave town.’

  Gates and Crichlow exchanged a look and Crichlow nodded. I didn’t know if it was one of approval or disapproval.

  ‘Did they mention me?’

  ‘No. Should they have?’

  ‘Do they have any suspects?’

  ‘Other than you,’ Crichlow chipped in.

  Snide remarks like that were going to get me killed. ‘They didn’t mention any, but I doubt they would.’

  No one said anything for a long while. Gates stared through me while he thought. Crichlow stood in sentry-like silence. Nothing could be heard except the harsh splat of rain pouring through a hole in the roof and striking the concrete floor in the far distance.

  ‘Someone from the racing world killed my brother.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He was killed next to one of your trucks, wasn’t he? That’s why you’re going to find the killer for me.’

  I groaned inside. I should have seen this coming. ‘You don’t know that this had anything to do with motor racing. You said yourself that you’ve got a shady past. Jason’s murder could be the result of someone getting back at you.’

  Gates ground his teeth. That possibility had to be tearing him up. ‘Don’t you worry about that. I’ll be looking into that side of things myself. You look into your side of things.’

  ‘I’m not the person for this. The cops are better equipped to look into this than I am.’

  ‘I disagree. The cops will blunder their way through and we can’t investigate this without causing waves, but you can. You can hide in plain sight.’

  ‘I know nothing about your brother.’

  ‘You’ll learn. I’m not taking no for an answer. You will do this for me. And just as an incentive .?.?.’ Gates let his words hang for me to pluck from the air.

  ‘Incentive?’

  Gates picked up the mallet. I flinched. He smiled.

  ‘Calm yourself. Hurting you doesn’t help me. Hurting someone important to you, that is a real incentive. Refuse to help and I’ll take out my disappointment on that grandfather of yours.’

  Gates knew a lot about me – that I raced, that Steve was my grandfather, that the police had held me – and he’d found it out in a hurry. He had connections that stretched further than just having Crichlow as his muscle. That scared me more than the five-pound mallet.

  ‘Have I made myself clear?’

  He had. I understood Gates’ need for revenge and justice. His brother hadn’t deserved to die. But fuck him for taking it out on me and now Steve. Gates might have been out of the bad-guy business for a decade, but he hadn’t let any rust build on his skills for intimidation. ‘Yes,’ I forced out between gritted teeth.

  ‘I see a little anger in those eyes. Don’t waste your energy getting angry with me. Turn it into fuel for finding my brother’s killer and no harm will come to your family. Even better, you’ll have my undying appreciation.’

  ‘What happens when I find the person responsible?’

  ‘Hear that Dominic? “When”. Not if, but when. I like that. It shows confidence and determination.’ Gates examined the mallet in his hands and his mood changed from condescending to sullen. ‘I expect to be updated regularly on your progress and when you find the bastard responsible, you just tell me where I can find him and I’ll take things from there. Just make sure you don’t tell the filth first.’

  I could only imagine what Gates would do to the culprit if and when he got his hands on him. That thought left me queasy. Jason’s killer deserved to be brought to justice, but not this way. I’d be delivering him to his death. That made me no different than Gates. I’d be a killer. It was a role I wasn’t sure I could play.

  ‘So we have a deal?’

  Gates had proved that he could easily get to me at any time. He’d do the same with Steve. I didn’t have a choice. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Get him out of here, Dominic.’

  Crichlow grinned, then pulled the hood back over my head.

  Lap Five

  Crichlow stuffed me back in the boot of his BMW and drove me back to my car, which he’d stashed on the service road to the Windsor Racecourse. My tyre was still flat. I drove home on it. I was definitely not in the mood to change it. Crichlow had let me go with the reminder: ‘Not a word to anyone. We’ll be in touch.’

  No doubt, I’d thought.

  I got as far as letting myself into the house before Steve appeared from the living room. He was still dressed, but his ruffled hair said that he’d fallen asleep waiting up for me.

  ‘Where you been, son? I expected you home hours ago. You have responsibilities now. You can’t go off partying when it suits you.’ He stopped and looked at my clothes. ‘What the hell happened to you? Are you OK?’

  ‘No, not really.’ It was nice not to have to pretend to someone that everything was normal and I was fine.

  The lecture went out of Steve’s tone. ‘You’d better have a sit down then.’

 
I followed Steve into the living room. I held in a groan when I sat down on the sofa. My body wasn’t quite bolted back together after its tazing and Andrew Gates’ fists. I don’t think the sofa had ever felt as comfortable as it did at that moment.

  Steve sat in his armchair and put his feet up on the corner of the coffee table. ‘What’s happened?’

  I told him about finding Jason, the police interview and picking up a flat tyre. He didn’t need to know about Crichlow and the bargain I’d struck with Gates. Last year, I’d dragged Steve and Dylan into a situation that had almost gotten all three of us killed. I couldn’t risk putting him through that again. This time, it was my burden.

  ‘So how do you feel?’ Steve asked.

  ‘Shitty.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I was so caught up admiring my name painted on the side of a fucking truck that I missed that a man was bleeding to death at my feet. If I’d seen him straight away instead of having my head up my arse, I might have been able to save him.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  A tremor started in my hands and crept up my arms. ‘I should have done more.’

  ‘You did your best. No one could ask more of you.’

  Andrew Gates could and had. He had a noose around my neck now. ‘That’s easy for you to say. You weren’t there.’

  ‘OK. You’re right. What do you think you could have done?’

  ‘I could have chased after the killer. I heard him running away. But I stayed with Jason.’

  ‘And get yourself killed? Don’t be stupid.’

  I was shaking all over now. ‘I’m not being stupid. If I’d had the balls to leave Jason, I could have seen the killer’s face or his car or something and the police would have the bastard right now.’

  And I wouldn’t have Gates’ boot on my neck. I hadn’t known where this night would lead, couldn’t have known, but that simple act of identifying the killer would have sated Gates’ bloodlust.

  ‘Or you’d be dead. You did the right thing.’

  I jumped to my feet and jabbed an accusing finger at Steve. ‘You don’t know that!’ I shouted. I was shaking all over now.