Kidnap

by Philip McCutchan

  Driving at breakneck speed, Mr Blundy took the Granada into the fast lane without using his rear-view mirror. A horn blasted at him and he veered back to the centre lane and another horn blast. Headlamps began flashing from behind, where there was a fair degree of chaos. There was also a police car, in the middle lane; its crew might come in very handy.

  Mr Blundy pressed on. He was bathed in a nasty, sticky, cold sweat. He had to use his judgment; he mustn’t harm the kid. That was the first consideration. But just the same he had to stop the squat man who might in the end harm him a bloody sight more.

  He swept past the Volvo. He was pretty sure he hadn’t been recognised but the squat man pulled into the fast lane right behind him as though he wanted to nudge him out of the way. Naturally, with the Bill not far behind, the squat man wouldn’t risk passing on the inside and maybe get flagged down. Not with the kid in the boot.

  Mr Blundy thought like lightning and did what he knew he had to: he slammed on his brakes and turned very slightly towards the safety barrier. In the split second that followed, Mr Blundy, this time using his rear-view mirror, saw the reaction in the squat man’s face and then there was a dreadful, tearing crunch as the squat man gave his wheel a jerk left and in the process of trying to zoom past took Mr Blundy’s near-side rear bumper and hefted him on to the safety barrier.

  *

  It was fairly spectacular.

  Seventy-eight crashes down all three southbound lanes, a number of vehicles written off and a number of injuries. Miraculously no deaths except Mr Blundy. Harold Barnwell, who had as expected been in the Volvo’s big boot, had been bundled in rugs and blankets and pillows but was badly shaken up in the car’s spin down the centre lane and its final lifting on to its side. However, apart from that and a cleanly broken arm he was unhurt. The boot lid had been forced open and when the Bill panted up, Harold was able to point the finger literally at the squat man and his mates and, with a composure that would have been remarkable in anyone but himself, was able to get across the salient points of the case. The Bill, of course, went crazy with joy over a fortuitously solved case.

  Mr Blundy didn’t die at once. When the Bill found him in the shattered Granada, upended on the safety barrier, he was able to speak.

  “Get the kid out,” he said painfully. “The little kid … car what hit me.”

  “All right, mate, just take it easy. Kid’s all right.”

  Mr Blundy’s fading eye focused on the Bill, a truly wonderful thing to see as one’s last glimpse of earth. He knew he was a goner, knew it for sure: God had come back in that moment of crunch and crash and was even now manifesting Himself on the safety barrier and looking kind and welcoming. Mr Blundy had been good and had overcome the evil that had been resident in his spirit. Poor Ag: she’d carry the can on her own now; maybe already getting a lift down the M1, a lift into real trouble …

  Mr Blundy heard someone say there were ambulances on the way.

  He said faintly, “Want to see the kid, I do.”

  The Bill looked up and spoke to someone, sounding very far away now, and all at once it seemed Harold was there, white and shaky and wrapped in blankets, carried by the Bill. Mr Blundy murmured, “Sorry, son.”

  “Don’t apologise. You’ve been awf’lly good really. I’m free now. You’ve been awf’lly decent … Mr Blundy.”

  Mr Blundy. Not just Blundy. That was really nice. “No hard feelings then, son?”

  “None at all.” There was a smile on the kid’s face, Mr Blundy saw, but there were tears as well, and a very wobbly mouth. “Silly of you … trying to be Ayrton Senna.”

  “Sod Ayrton Senna, Nigel Mansell … little blighter.”

  Unable to say more, Harold just nodded. Mr Blundy, knowing it was all a joke, a friendly way of saying goodbye, gave a weak smile. Harold faded, so did the Bill, so did the motorway, all except the safety barrier, the Armco barrier like at Brands, and God sitting on it, plain as day and still smiling, still kind. Things were going to be okay and Mr Blundy felt warm and sort of sleepy, the pain fading as God’s image grew. Just before he died he said with remarkable clarity, “Reckon He’d best hurry me through or He’ll get cramp like as not.”

  “Who will?” the voice of the Bill asked.

  “Up on the barrier. Can’t you see Him?”

  “No one on the barrier, mate,” the Bill said.

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