Kiss the Hare's Foot

by Janet Wakley

  Directed to get out of the car, Mel saw that the other vehicles had already been vacated. A long flat-roofed extension protruded from the rear of the otherwise square house with a line of rectangular porthole windows set high into the matching pebbledash wall. A bland and functional building, it lacked both character and style.

  They were led through a side door, of greater dimensions than usual for a normal house, into a small square lobby. Shiny floors and the strong smell of disinfectant greeted the visitors, a striking contrast to their previous abode. A door to their left took them into the original part of the building and a large rectangular waiting-room. The rear extension, behind a door to their right, appeared to offer the clinical rooms and veterinary facilities for animals.

  Green plastic mass-produced chairs bordered the perimeter of the waiting- room, the mottled dark green linoleum-flooring shining and clean. Posters depicting animals of every type adorned every wall space, together with racks heaving with instruction leaflets and pet owners manuals. Silas, Clive and three of the guards were already seated. Mel took a vacant seat next to Clive, choosing to keep apart from Silas, who sat poker-straight in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, picking fragments of dirt from his now crumpled suit trousers. The action was scarcely effective, rather a gesture of resentment at the despicable conditions in which he had been held prisoner.

  They heard the approach of the fat man before he appeared in the doorway, as he shuffled his enormous form in his clumsy rolling motion, breathing heavily with the exertion. The woman and man in green cords closely followed him into the room and lined up on either side. His cold steely eyes swept backwards and forwards, surveying the three captives, as though seeing them properly for the first time and wholly displeased with his catch. He stood like a mountainous statue with feet splayed. Clasping his fat puffy hands together, which were now encased in cream latex examination gloves, his short fat arms were stretched round the bulge of his torso. His grey suit was creased and limp, grubby at the sides from scuffing against the dirty walls in the old priory. In the presence of his armed guards, he held absolute control of his audience. He enjoyed the power. Everything was so far going to plan and he savoured the moment. He knew, however, when the time came to commence the operation, that part of this control could transfer to the hostages and he meant them to be in no doubt about the consequences of taking advantage of such occurrence. The big man sighed heavily.

  “Now I’m not an unreasonable man, and I think you must agree that I’ve provided you with ideal facilities and every comfort.”

  Somehow his words failed dismally to match his body language, which remained hostile. Mel noticed that the woman, standing to his left, was also wearing latex gloves and fidgeted with the fingertips, occasionally rubbing the palms of her hands together in the manner of a person unused to wearing such an accessory. Mel looked round the room nervously, realising that all the guards were now similarly equipped. The harsh voice continued.

  “The owner of this establishment will not be returning for several days; in fact this establishment has been temporarily closed to the public supposedly for builders to come in next week, so we shall not be disturbed. You needn’t worry about security, all doors and windows are securely locked and some of the windows even have bars fitted. So considerate, don’t you think?” he gloated. “All the phone lines have been disconnected and we are far enough from the road and other houses, not to be heard. Now, provided you managed to get all the stuff you need for this little operation, and by God, there’s enough of it, you should have no trouble in carrying out this small task. Fix Charlie up and you’ll be able to walk out of here. Can’t say fairer than that, can I?” He paused, half expecting a response, but none came.

  “Now first, I have some news, for you. Hot off the press, you might say. Our young nurse here is quite a celebrity. She’s even made the national newspapers and television.” He sniggered with satisfaction and paused again for effect before continuing, “Melissa Stacey, a nurse, was captured on CCTV running out of a hospital with stolen goods after shooting a member of staff! It seems you are now wanted by the police, young lady. How about that?”

  His pretence at humour was completely lost on Mel, who sat stupefied by his announcement. So, she was now a hunted criminal! Fighting back the tears, she looked to Silas and Clive for support, but they both were staring back at the fat man with hate in their eyes. Silas opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and instead changed his focus to the woman standing beside him who met his stare and responded with a cold, thin smirk. Gloatingly she folded her arms, the ill-fitting latex gloves looking strangely bizarre with her trim blue trouser suit.

  Fingerprints! That’s why they’re all wearing gloves, thought Mel grimly. We will be the only ones leaving fingerprints all over the place. A police search, far from looking to rescue them from their terrifying gang abduction, would now be hunting them down as armed perpetrators of a dreadful crime. Their complicity, far from buying time to plan an escape, was even more entrenching them into the criminal activities of the fat man’s scheme. She wanted to ask whether the man in the hospital had died from his wound, but was unable to speak. That would be murder. And with Kurt also dead, who would ever believe that she was not a willing accomplice?

  Giving the gang the slip now appeared an insurmountable task and one which the three of them were both powerless and incompetent to achieve.

  “Now then, Maddie here,” the fat man continued, indicating to his female accomplice, “will show you where you can take a shower and then you can start getting ready. Just remember, don’t go thinking that there is any way you can escape,” as if predicting the thoughts of his captives, “because all my chaps are armed. I’ve no doubt that any gunfire will only be assumed to be hammering.” His laugh was hollow and convinced no-one.

  16

  Mel and her two companions were escorted up a narrow staircase hidden behind a latched doorway beside a smart curved reception desk. This led from the main veterinary facilities up into spacious living accommodation above. Rust brown cord carpet, worn thin with wear in the doorways and hallways provided a uniform floor covering to all the rooms. Dog hairs and scuffmarks on the lower portions of doors were evidence of a home also shared by animals. Housework appeared to be a low priority to its owners, time spent instead in managing a busy practice and in the service of the unquestioning loyalty of animal companions. Nevertheless, away from the filth of the cellar, it was luxury to the three hostages. It was warm and although furnished with an assortment of ill-matching furniture, would provide much needed comfort, at least for a while.

  Maddie ushered the group towards a door to their right. “In here,” she indicated with a wave of her hand.

  “Pleeese,” said Silas sarcastically.

  She ignored him and stood aside to let them enter into a large spacious lounge. Two long brown leather sofas and two further armchairs of differing styles, each draped with loose covers to hide damaged upholstery beneath, formed a straggling semi-circle around a tall open fireplace. Small square decorative tiles, from an earlier generation, many of them cracked with age, surrounded the open grate where now stood a gas fire displaying artificial coal. An old television set stood on a low table in one corner of the room and several tall bookcases covered the whole of one end wall. Two square sash windows, screened by plain net curtaining and edged by full-length gold coloured curtains which touched the floor, overlooked the front driveway. The room felt comfortable and lived in.

  Beckoned by Maddie to sit, Silas and Clive took an armchair each at the nearest end of the fireplace. Mel chose to sit at the far end of a sofa, being a vantage point to observe both the doorway and her companions. Their expressionless faces gave nothing away and this troubled her. Could they really have believed the fat man when he told them that when this was all over they would be able to walk away from there? The gang’s ruthless disregard for hu
man life, including Kurt, one of their own men, hardly suggested that they would be sent away with a pat on the back for doing a good job. Every eventuality seemed to her to have been meticulously planned, despite the restricted timescale since Charlie’s injury.

  As they sat and waited, Mel studied the woman who had so unexpectedly appeared as part of the gang. Had she been in the derelict old house all along without their knowing? Was she related to one of them? Responsible for the acquisition of their food and bedding? She hardly came across though as an understanding or sympathetic soul. Standing erect beside the door, with her hands by her sides, she carried an air of authority; a match for any man who dared to cross her. She displayed no signs of familiarity with her comrades and they, equally, appeared to merely accept her presence without question. Mel considered the grim possibility that she might not be the only gang member whose presence had been kept from them.

  Hood appeared in the doorway clumsily carrying a tray containing three mugs, some of their contents slopping into the tray. Hot coffee. Maddie took the tray from him and set it down upon a footstool in front of the fireplace. Clive immediately leaned forwards and claimed one of the mugs, clasping it to him with trembling hands, which sent ripples across the surface of the liquid. Silas and Mel waited until Hood had left before each helped themselves to the remaining mugs. The coffee was good; hot, strong and freshly made. Gone, at least for a while, were the plastic cups filled from a thermos flask. Whatever tactics the gang had used in order to acquire the use of this veterinary surgery, they certainly intended to take full advantage of the kitchen and the facilities provided. Maddie, feeling that her supervision was no longer required, also left the room, closing the door behind her. They heard a key turn in the lock.

  For a while the three continued to sit in silence, unsure whether anyone might be listening outside the door. Mel discreetly observed the surgeon who with head bowed and eyes closed in deep thought, absently stroked his thick black eyebrows. She suspected that he was heading towards a situation out of his control, like the inevitability of an unstoppable rock rolling down a hillside. His moral stance had been an ineffective deterrent to his cell-mates, who viewed the task of surgery as their only realistic option in order to gain release from their captives. Now he was faced with carrying out a major surgical procedure in an unknown environment, with only half a theatre team, without proper back-up equipment and drugs, and on a patient who had received none of the usual health checks and blood tests prior to anaesthesia. He could only make a calculated guess at the additional damage sustained to the casualty from travelling in the back of a van over rough terrain. Too many uncertainties and the future looked grim.

  Mel had no illusions that a successful operation would ensure their safety; far from it. The purpose of the gang’s business still remained a mystery, but they were far from petty criminals and their readiness to violence was surely an indication that the stakes were very high. Even if the operation was successful, there would certainly be no grateful handshakes and celebration to bring this awful event to a conclusion. Escape was still their only chance of survival, Mel decided, and time was running out.

  Oblivious to Mel’s scrutiny, Silas rose from his chair and began pacing the floor in front of the fireplace.

  “So how are we going to get out of here?” asked Mel quietly. “We still aren’t quite sure how many there are and even if we are armed with surgical instruments, we’re not going to get far, are we?”

  “Keep quiet, girl, I am thinking. We’re going to have to plan this carefully. We can’t form a worthwhile plan until we know the lay-out of this building. Meanwhile, we’ll just have to bide our time.”

  “We won’t get a better chance than while we’re being kept here. We know now they plan to take us back to that filthy old place, so we’ve got to make a move soon.” Mel persisted.

  “So have you got a plan then?”

  “Well, not exactly. But perhaps if we can stay together, when we get down to where the operation is to take place, then we can use the scalpels and perhaps an oxygen cylinder or something and force our way out.”

  “You’re going to get us all killed like that. Be quiet and let me think.”

  Clive, meanwhile, refused to be drawn into their conversation. Instead he lay back in his chair, eyes closed and hands clasped across his lap as though to take advantage of the opportunity for a nap; the improved comfort, too much to resist. After giving the anaesthetist a withering look, Silas crossed the room and peered out from the front window, straining to view the extremities of the driveway. He moved away with a discernable shake of his head.

  “I suppose we have to assume that the whole gang is here,” he said quietly. “Therefore, making a rush for it isn’t an option, except I still think they will be reluctant to use guns in such a built-up area. That is perhaps to our advantage.” He wandered the room, pausing by the door to listen for movement outside before eventually standing with feet astride in front of the fireplace as though taking charge of a military exercise. “All three of us will need to be downstairs together. They will have to let us prepare for the operation, open the instrument sets etcetera, and then if we’re left unguarded for a few moments, we need to arm ourselves with the best instruments to hand. We will try to take as long over the preparation as possible so that it is beginning to get dusk before we have completed our arrangements. There might be a window we can escape from in the clinical area on the ground floor. We will have to assume they will place guards outside the door.” Silas bent down as though to tie a shoe lace and discreetly revealed to Mel the screwdriver which she had earlier managed to steal away from the old priory, tucked inside his sock. She grinned with relief that he had found an opportunity to retrieve the item before leaving the cellar. They had at least one useful weapon amongst them.

  Clive, still with his eyes firmly closed, unexpectedly interjected with, “if we do decide to have a go, the one thing we must not do is bungle our attempt. I doubt very much whether we’ll get a second chance. I have to say that if an opportunity does not present itself, then we’ll just have to carry on with the op’ and see how things turn out.”

  Silas looked irritated by his response and made a point of sighing loudly to demonstrate his despair.

  “You may be quite keen to operate, but I certainly am not! We’ve said it before, it is ethically and morally wrong to go along with this. If he had been presented to a properly equipped NHS hospital, he would stand a good chance of survival; but here? It’s my reputation on the line.”

  “Well, let’s face it,” Clive continued “we may have no choice in the matter. We’ve got to behave as though we are prepared to go through with it and once we get ‘knife to skin’ then we’ll have to do the best we can. If he dies on the operating table, then I don’t hold out much for our chances.”

  “Stop being so negative,” pleaded Mel. “I’m prepared to put up a fight if you are.”

  Silenced by the sudden raised hand of Silas, they paused to hear the turning of the key in the door, putting an abrupt end to their conversation with yet still no cohesive plan in place. They could now only wait and see what opportunities might arise.

  Two guards entered the room. The man with the green corduroys led the way accompanied by a short man whom they had not seen before, with pointed features and eyes too close together, wearing a black baseball cap and a navy loose-fitting track suit. They positioned themselves on either side of the doorway like nightclub bouncers. Neither spoke or made eye contact with their captives, their intimidating presence creating a renewed tension in the room.

  The critical stage of their capture looked about to be played out.

  17

  “So what do you expect to find when you open him up?” Mel tentatively directed her question to Silas. The query was posed more as a display of acquiescence for the benefit of the listening guards in order to allay suspicion that discussi
on had been taking place on their determination to escape.

  Silas recognised her ploy and submitted to her change of tactic. “In all probability, it’ll be a leaking spleen, but there could be damage to other tissue, liver or gut, maybe.” He turned suddenly and confronted Mel, crossing his arms. “Tell me, nurse, what do you know about the spleen? Describe it to me,” he fired.

  “Er, well,” began Mel, taken completely off guard. Suddenly she felt her credibility was at stake. She swallowed hard. “Well, it’s purplish in colour; about 12 cms long by, roughly, 6 or 7 cms. Weighs nearly half a pound.”

  “More. Where is it? What does it do? No good expecting to assist with an operation you know nothing about!”

  Mel couldn’t tell from his aggressive counterblast whether he was attempting to impose his superiority over her or prove to the spectators the foolhardiness of the project. She stood her ground. Meekly, she replied, “It’s positioned between the pancreas and the left kidney, superiorly and posteriorly to the diaphragm.”

  “And...”

  “It’s encased in a capsule under the peritoneum. It’s a reservoir for blood mostly. It’s where antibodies and antitoxins are made.” Mel was fast running out of anything else to say about it, although she thought it might have other functions as well.

  “Not bad,” Silas conceded. “All we’ve got to do is get the bloody thing out in the sterility of a theatre built to be a pig sty!” He threw a glance at the two guards, who instantly averted their gaze.

  Maddie and Hood returned to the room. This time Hood brought with him a pile of blue theatre scrubs, which he almost threw down onto the first chair he came to.

  “You first.” Maddie directed her words to Mel. “Take a set of these and come with me.”