by steve higgs
There had been a flurry of activity many hours before she was led into the chamber where I was held, she was trying to judge time without a clock or daylight as a reference and struggling to work out how long it had been. I had been tasered around noon and it was after midnight when Tempest arrived with the police. I had been out for half a day and they had kept Patience captive for more than two. Patience said she had tried whispering to the other girls, they didn’t respond, even when she poked them. Whatever drug they had used to create the catatonic state was good stuff. No doubt the hospital would work out what it was later.
She had seen the Kings and lots of men with weapons and a basket of snakes and lots and lots of voodoo shit (her words not mine) and had freaked out so much that by the time she was instructed to paint me for the ceremony she had withdrawn into herself and was numbly doing what she was told. The knife, she said, had been sat on a shelf in the chamber I was being held in. She had spontaneously grabbed it in passing and stashed it in something I had not heard because I had seen the awful answer coming and had put my fingers in my ears while making a, ‘La, la, la.’ sound to block out what she was saying.
I had also spoken with Big Ben while Tempest had been off coordinating with the police. He didn't want to talk about his treatment at the hands of the Kings. All he would say was that he got a call from Jane to say that Patience had gone missing and then she couldn't get hold of me and he started snooping. The first place he went was the Kings' house. It was after dark, he broke into the house and was overpowered. He didn't have much more than that to say about it.
‘Ben doesn't do emotions.' Tempest said. 'He will deal with it in his own way.'
It seemed impolite to not ask him about his week away. ‘Jane said you had her looking into pirate ships and treasure while you were away. I thought you were taking some time off to relax.’
He followed my gaze down to his ripped and dirty clothing. He laughed at himself, ‘It, ah… It turned out to be more adventurous than I had intended. I'll tell you about it later if you like. Shall we check on the others?'
Tempest and I walked the few feet over to where Big Ben, Patience, and Jane were waiting impatiently. The police had been kind and caring, we were the victims after all, but they didn't, or rather couldn't let us go until they had assessed enough of the crime scene and asked a few questions. That had already happened while the paramedics had been checking each of us over.
Jane had called her boyfriend, Simon just as soon as she could get hold of a phone. He had reported her absence to the Police last night, the only one of us that was reported missing. Not enough time had elapsed for the police to investigate it yet though. He had arrived twenty minutes ago and was waiting somewhere outside, so Jane was getting quite agitated at being made to hang around. The police trauma management rep had given Jane and the rest of us the number for a councillor we could talk to. Big Ben had laughed and thrown it away. Patience and I had been more polite about it. I didn’t know if I would have nightmares about today, about Bartholomew. It wasn’t something I wanted to think about now.
A few more minutes went by while we waited, doing nothing, amid the flurry of activity that surrounded us, and just when I decided I had had enough, a sergeant detached himself from a group that was setting up a small operations post and crossed the floor to tell us we were free to go.
I thanked him and turned to make sure everyone was ready. ‘Let’s get the heck out of here.’ Everyone agreed with the sentiment.
On the way out, we met with more police and more crime scene guys in the corridors. Beneath the Kings' house was chemical storage, a meth lab and goodness knows what else. As I went by one room, I saw Simon and Steve in the distance. White lab suits on, they were inspecting what I took to be chemistry equipment. Seeing them made me remember Kimberly. I would need to call and update her. She would want to know that Bartholomew was gone and would not be coming back. I wouldn't need her toiletries anymore either. No one would be interested in prosecuting a stalker case when he was going down for drug manufacture and distribution and quite possibly murder – how many other people had been snatched and sacrificed over the years?
A thought occurred to me. ‘Jane.’ I had to turn my head and sort of walk sideways in the corridor, so I could see her. ‘When they kidnapped you, did they say anything about their plans for you?’ I had already asked her about how and when they had grabbed her. It had been as she got home on Thursday afternoon. Three of them had been waiting near her house and had bundled her into a van as she crossed the car park to her house.
Jane thought about my question for a moment. ‘No. No, I don't think they did, other than to say that I was the lucky one. I did hear them talking when they thought I couldn't hear them. They said something about the girl they wanted disappearing and that Mr. King was lucky to have found a replacement in the nick of time. Any idea what that means?'
Tempest put his hand on my shoulder to guide me around a pillar as I was not really watching where I was going.
‘Thanks.' I mumbled, deep in thought. ‘I think that Bartholomew needed a girl for the ritual tonight. I think that is why he was using the dating site in the first place. Kimberly would have been the intended target or one of the previous girls, but I guess he always put out a disturbing vibe and the girls all shied away. It should have been Kimberly tonight, but we stashed her out of their reach and he grabbed you because you suddenly popped into his life.'
‘That is some disturbing shit.’ Said Big Ben.
We emerged into the cool night air via a set of concrete steps that led up into a corner of the expansive garden. The rumble of generators powering portable lights could be heard coming from the front of the house. Light from there was creating long shadows. As we rounded the building the noise increased, and we could hear a single voice ahead of us.
CI Quinn was giving a press report. On the other side of the ornate garden fence, out in the street was a hastily erected podium with microphones attached to the front of it. A boom with a further microphone was being held above his head while three different cameras were trained on him.
As we closed the distance, I began to make out what he was saying.
‘…together with armed officers, the building behind us was stormed at 0137hrs this morning. This follows a lengthy investigation by my department into the Magdalene King and the supply of drugs in this area.’ He was a good orator and played well to the camera. I had seen him on the news before, it was one of the skills that had gained him promotion already and would see him continue to rise. I loathed him.
This was my bust and he was claiming it as his own.
‘The arrests made here tonight will see a marked reduction in crime…’
‘Hey, it’s Tempest Michaels.’ One of the reporters shouted, grabbing her cameraman and pointing him right at us. CI Quinn’s voice trailed off as he realised that all attention, and the cameras, had shifted away from him.
I heard Tempest say a bad word under his breath, but then he raised his arm and waved to the press as they came toward us. We had closed the last few metres and were exiting the grounds of the house to join the press in the street.
‘Good evening.' He offered with enthusiasm. ‘Would you like an eye-witness account of tonight's events?' he asked them.
‘Mr. Michaels, you are not required, thank you.' CI Quinn cut in loudly.
The press though were ignoring the man in uniform. They were focused on the rag-tag band of refugees with Tempest Michaels, local minor celebrity, in the centre. Tempest stepped onto the podium next to Quinn, offering the man his hand to shake for the cameras. Quinn returned the smile, failing to hide how false it looked as he took Tempest's hand.
The reporters were already shouting out questions. ‘How did you become involved in the case? Is it true they were practising voodoo? Is voodoo real, Tempest?’
Moving to the centre of the podium, which bodily forced the smaller man in uniform to step aside, Tempest addressed the cameras. ‘T
hank you, Chief Inspector.' He said with a smile, then he speared the cameras with a serious look. ‘The Kent Police were magnificent this evening, their bravery and determined action led to the successful arrest of an entire criminal organisation. There is an element the Chief Inspector is not aware of though. ‘He turned his gaze to me. The cameras followed it and I was instantly pinned in place by several bright lights. ‘My colleague, Amanda Harper investigated this case while I was absent. I have played no part in the apprehension of the Magdalene King; However, the Chief Inspector will confirm that Miss Harper was instrumental in bringing him to justice. Isn't that right, Chief Inspector?' The cameras swung back to Quinn.
‘Well, I, ah.’
Tempest didn’t give him room to disagree. ‘During her investigation into a related case, Miss Harper uncovered evidence that led her to believe she had identified the elusive criminal legend that you all know as the Magdalene King…’
‘I think it is time I concluded my official report.' CI Quinn said, interrupting Tempest. Perhaps sensing the mood of the reporters, Tempest fell silent, allowing Quinn to speak. ‘Now, where was I? Crime in this area will be greatly reduced, due solely…'
‘We want to hear from Tempest and Harper.’ A male reporter shouted.
‘Yeah.’ Said the man next to him.
‘This is an official statement to the press…’ Quinn tried. He was using his authoritative voice.
‘Yeah, but you’re boring.’ Pointed out another man.
‘Let Tempest speak.’ Called out a young female reporter, shivering visibly against the cold.
Tempest shrugged and stepped back to the centre of the podium as CI Quinn spun angrily on his heels and left.
As Tempest talked, I watched him. He was being utterly selfless, talking about me in the most generous terms while at the same time verbally defeating a man I desperately wanted to see fail.
I jumped lightly as something touched my left calf. I looked down to find a small Persian cat wearing a Swarovski collar. It was Kimberly’s cat. Bartholomew had taken it. I picked it up, surprised that it didn’t fight me. It began purring as I rubbed its fur.
‘Did you rescue her?' One of the reporters called out as Tempest was explaining his presence at the house.
‘Not in any sense of the word, no.' he replied. It felt like a lie to me. Had he not turned up I would be dead now. ‘By the time the police arrived, Amanda had already escaped from captivity, overpowered Mr. King and, together with her team,' he indicated Big Ben, Patience, and Jane, ‘she would most likely have brought about the gang's surrender.'
There was a snort of derision from CI Quinn who was now standing to one side fuming.
I felt Patience next to me. She leaned in close to my ear and whispered, ‘And remember that on top of all this adulation, he is also a little bit in love with you.’ My heart skipped. There was a lot to like about Tempest Michaels. Thinking about a non-professional relationship with him just made me think of Brett though. Where was Brett? Did getting kidnapped and nearly killed qualify as grounds to break my promise not to call him?
I was fairly sure it did. I would send him a text or an email telling him not to worry if he saw me on the news. That was bound to get a response even if it was a little manipulative.
I was going to win Brett back. Once he knew he had misunderstood seeing me with Big Ben, I was sure we would be back on track. Tempest Michaels though…
Unconsciously I was biting my lip as I watched him.
Sleep. Friday, November 4th 0315hrs
Tempest had wrapped the press interview up, stating that we had all endured a very long day, had been subjected to harsh treatment and degradation and needed to attend to our own needs. They had pressed him with more questions, but he had politely insisted that we were done for the night. There would be other opportunities to interview us.
His Dachshunds were in his two-seater sports car I learned as he made arrangements to get us home. He opened the door and they plopped out to greet everyone with an excited round of barking. He shushed them and put them back inside, explaining that he had come directly here from Cornwall and really needed to get them home. We told him to go, but of course, he insisted on staying until our transport home was fixed.
Jane had been reunited with her boyfriend who had been held behind the police cordon and she vanished with Simon almost before we realised what was happening. Tempest called after her to take the next day off and to only come back next week when she was ready.
The rest of us went into the back of a police van, the kind used for transporting prisoners. None of us cared, it was just a means to get home. Patience should have been the first drop as her house was nearest but at some point, this evening she had negotiated a second date with Big Ben and was going to his place. How they had the energy to even consider sex I had no idea. I was exhausted.
I waved them both goodnight from the van as they were dropped in the street by the solid looking security gate that led into Big Ben's building complex. Tempest had told me to take tomorrow off as well. I suspected that I would not wake up until late morning, but when I did I would have tasks to perform. I had to reunite Kimberly with her cat for one. My sleep-deprived brain was telling me I had forgotten an important fact about her. Something I needed to do or something I needed to tell her. I couldn't work out what it was though and was certain it could wait until morning.
I needed a shower but elected to just put my sheets through the wash tomorrow instead. I was bone tired. My only concession, diverting my direct route from front door to bed, was to clean my teeth.
As I relaxed into my bed covers, Kimberly’s cat curled up on one corner of my duvet, my phone rang. I picked it up to switch it off. It was far too late to consider answering it. The caller was Tempest though so I swiped the screen to connect him.
‘Hi, Tempest.’
‘Amanda why is there a woman in my bed?’
Oops!
The End
Please don’t switch your kindle off there though. I have a bonus short story for you to read on the next few pages – it is November 5th tomorrow after all. For anyone reading this outside of the UK, it is my duty to inform you that November 5th is an important date in the UK calendar. It was the day when in 1605 a chap called Guy Fawkes led a mission to blow up the Houses of Parliament. He was unsuccessful, but we celebrate him still – well, who wouldn’t want to blow up all their politicians?
Other books by Steve Higgs
Click the links to find the books in your local Amazon store.
Paranormal Nonsense
The Phantom of Barker Mill
Zombie Granny – a Short Story
The Klowns of Kent
Dead Pirates of Cawsand
Written with Gemma Higgs
Can you Kick a Ghost in the Nuts? The Harper Files Case 1
Coming soon
The Witches of East Malling
Want to keep up with Steve’s writing? Paranormal Nonsense: Blue Moon Investigations Book 1 is available for $0.99/£0.99 via Amazon and a free short story “Zombie Granny” involving Tempest and the gang is available to you if you choose to sign up to his free Newsletter where you will hear about forthcoming releases as well as events and giveaways.
Here’s the link: http://eepurl.com/dnm8Dj
Guys and Dolls. A Blue Moon Short Story
Guys and Dolls
Blue Moon Investigations
A Short Story
Steve Higgs
The Grounds of Leeds Castle. Saturday, November 5th 1917hrs
Tempest had wanted to get there early, he was worried parking would be difficult later in the evening and since he was offering to drive, I offered no resistance to his plan. I only just fit into his car though. He drives this stupid Porsche Boxster thing, which he loves, but it is not designed for proper men like me. I'll admit it is sleek and sporty and it sure shifts when he stomps on the pedal. I could never own one though because I like to be able to drive without having to twist my
head sideways because the roof is too low.
Tempest claims that I am freakishly tall. I just think I am a more advanced version of man; better looking, taller, stronger, better in bed – you get the picture. I think that is why girls like me. They see me as a wise choice in the process of selecting a mate. Since I am clearly more visible than other men, purely by dint of being twenty-five percent larger, but also far more handsome than those around me, I am the obvious choice for them to make.
What's that? Haven't I introduced myself? Seriously? How is it that you could possibly not know who I am? I'm friggin famous, baby. I am the studlicious man-muffin you have been craving. Unless you are a guy, of course, in which case, sorry about shagging your girlfriend, which if it hasn't happened yet, trust me, it is only a matter of time.
My name is Ben Winters, but everyone calls me Big Ben. Yes, like the clock. Although, of course, not like the clock at all because it is a bell inside the clock tower that is called Big Ben. The clock tower is just called the Elizabeth Tower, which is ironic in itself because there I am, inside a woman again. Anyway, I grew to be six-feet-seven and one-quarter inches tall and I weigh in at a very lean two hundred and forty-six pounds.
So, why am I telling you all this? Just setting the scene, sweets. As I tell you this tale I am sure you will want to imagine me correctly. The rest of the characters are entirely secondary, so they can just be blobs in your imagination. Focus on me, that’s the thing to remember.