Chapter 14

James

The ‘music’ is still playing, and I don’t hear the sound, but beside me, a half-empty cocktail glass
shatters and Klempner, snatching at my arm, tugs me to one side. Crouching behind the bar, “That’s
Finchby.”

“How d’you know it’s Finchby?”

“Because he’s a fucking lousy shot.”

“So, where’s Baxter?”

Above us, in a line on the shelves above us, the top rank of bottles shatter, exploding their contents in a
multi-hued shower of liquid and shattered glass. “That’s Baxter.” Abruptly, the music cuts out…

“Thank fuck for that,” mutters Klempner beside me, inching up to look over the bar.

Another line of fire, lower this time…

Finchby’s voice. “That’s my stock you’re shooting up, Baxter…”

Klempner grins. “C’mon… They’re in the office.” His head swings. “Where’s Jenny?”

“Down the stairs. Hopefully, Michael already has her out.”

“Good. That gives us a free hand.” He checks his watch. “Right, with me… One, two, three…”

His rifle over the bar, Klempner fires blind towards the office door. It chatters then falls silent. He
curses…

Out of ammo?



Jammed?

… then tugs a handgun from his pocket and fires. “Run…”

*****

 

Klempner

A group of half a dozen of the women mill around, seeming not to know what to do without someone
telling them...

Natural slaves...

The Glock raised in my hand, “Get out!”

One blathers at me, runs up pleading, then her eyes fix on my pistol.

“Out!” I yell, pointing to the door. “Saia! Ir!”

Still they don't get the message. Another runs up, weeping mascara, at me.

Too stupid to live…

Setting down the Glock, I cup my paired hands, then... “Boom...” I open them up. “Out!”

And finally, they get it. Eyes widen. Screaming, they go…

…. two running the wrong way.

Fuck…



I make after them, and there, running ahead of them…

Finchby…

Gotcha!

His eyes widen as he sees me coming and he brings up his pistol. He’s way too slow, yelping as I slap
the hand to one side, banging the fingers against the wall.

“Hey, Larry…” He’s red-faced, spluttering, panicking… I plant my fist in his face and he drops.

Got the bastard!

I haul him onto his feet. “Now move.” Dangling in my grip, half his weight pressed against the collar at
the front of his neck, it’s got to be cutting off his air.

James catches up with me. “Want a hand there?”

“Absolutely. Our friend here is being uncooperative.”

It’s an understatement. Finchby’s squealing like a piglet that knows it’s bacon time…

Which it is…

“Shut the fuck up, Finchby. I’ve not done anything to you yet. If you annoy me now, we might move on
to that part of proceedings early.”

James tugs his head back by the hair, examining his face. “If you want him able to speak, you’d better
not strangle him. You’re crushing his windpipe.”

Ever the pragmatist…



“What a shame.” I release him, top and bottom, and Finchby drops to the ground, landing heavily and
on his face.

“You want to carry him away? Knowing I'd have thought you would have...” James points two fingers at
the little runt, pulling an air-trigger.

I nod. “You're right. I would. But Baxter's not here and I need to know where he is. I’m sure our friend
here will be able to tell us where to find him, eh, Finchby?”

Between us, gripping him by arms and legs, bodily, James and I drag him towards the door, kicking and
struggling all the way.

And there, blocking our way to the stairs, Hickman, apparently on his way out, but as he sees me, he
pauses, eyes dropping to Finchby.

Still keeping my grip on Finchby, I straighten up. Finchby takes the opportunity to kick out and James
cuffs him on the face.

But Hickman holds hands up and away from his torso. “Hey, I'm not looking for trouble. Like I said…”
He looks down to Finchby again, his mouth pinching… “I don't want nothing to do with cutting up
babies for parts.”

Finchby bawls… “You bastard, Hickman. You were being paid…”

“Not for that, I wasn’t. You told me I was to help you with…” He meets my eye, shrugs. “Sorry, Mr
Klempner. It wasn’t personal.”

“Yes, I get that. Hickman, it seems to me that you're out of a job.”

He nods glumly. “I'd say you're right.”



“How do you feel about a new employer?”

His eyes spark, head inclining. “You?”

“Yes, me.”

“Yes, Mr Klempner.” He straightens up, almost to attention. “What would you like me to do?”

“Find me rope, tape, string, anything you can lay your hands on to get this bastard secured.”

He nods, thinks, then, “I'll try his office. Be right back.”

James pipes up. “While you're there pick up his laptop and phone if it's there.

Hickman pauses, microscopically, looking to me.

“While you're working for me, you take orders from him too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And don't hang around.” I check my watch. “We only have six minutes.”

Hickman gives me a startled look then sets off at a run.

Finchby jerks under my hand. “Six minutes? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I have news for you Finchby. You’re closing down for business.”

Hickman returns in under two minutes, reels of electrical tape in one hand and a laptop tucked under
one arm. “Got his phone in my pocket, sir, along with a couple of data keys I saw lying loose. And,
um…” He holds up a bag… The bag…



“I’m not sure all the money’s here, sir. I think they may have already divided it up.”

“I’m sure our Mr Haswell will be pleased to see it back.”

Hickman fishes in a pocket. “There’s this too.” He offers out a palm containing one of the phials of
anaesthetic. “I grabbed a handful along with the hypos.” He drops eyes to Finchby.

“Perfect. Fill the syringe and we’ll quieten down our friend here. I believe you know the dose.” I check
my watch again. “Four minutes.” Hickman displays a filled syringe. “It’s ready, sir.”

“Good. Hickman, hold him down.”

I depress the plunger, and after a few seconds, Finchby goes slack. “James, Hickman. Get him out. I’m
going to check everyone else is out.”

“And Baxter?”

“Oh, I’m looking for him too.”

*****

 

Michael

Running against the flow of fleeing women, I head for the entrance again.

James is there… With company…

Hickman?

… but the two seem to be working together, carrying a body.



It's Finchby, eyes closed, head lolling, trussed with cable ties at wrists, ankles and knees, and what
looks like electrical tape over his mouth.

James and Hickman are half-carrying, half-dragging him along, one hand hooked into his belt at the
back, the other hanging onto the collars of shirt and waistcoat.

James spots me. “Charlotte?”

“Richard has her.”

“Do we have a car?”

“Not sure, but once we’re outside I imagine we’ll have one in very short order. Richard was obviously
on the ball out there. I’m sure there’ll be some transport.” I jerk my chin at Hickman. “Anything you want
to tell me?”

“Mr Hickman here has new employment.” He thumbs at unconscious Finchby. “Head end or foot end?”

*****


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