Chapter Eight – A Deal

Dylan awoke to the sound of someone drilling through a wall, only to discover that the sound was coming from the inside of his own head and that he had a killer headache.

He was lying on a floral settee and was covered with a thin, yellow blanket that smelled of cat food. He blinked. Alex had knocked him out. Why? Surely that was against the law or something. Hitting kids that weren't your own wasn't allowed and although nineteen, Dylan was still pretty young. He could probably sue.

The pain reached a climax and he groaned, kneading his forehead. That had been a good punch. Dylan would know; he'd given out a few himself. Beating people up was one of his many talents and he flaunted it with delight, often picking on smaller, more vulnerable people than himself to humiliate. He was a bully, he accepted that. He beat people up because it made him feel good, like he was better than them, reassurance. Now he wasn't reassured. At all.

He pulled himself up from the settee and slowly stumbled across the room, towards the mantelpiece. So he could walk; that was a good sign. The door opened and the woman from the night before was standing in the doorway; pink dressing gown replaced with a pair of jeans and a green shirt.

"Oh." She said, folding her arms. "You're awake." Dylan nodded.

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"I've got cereal in the kitchen."

"I don't like cereal."

"Well there's nothing else." They stared at each other for a moment. "Fine." Sophie said, turning towards the door. "Starve then. Alex'll be round later. He'll be annoyed at me because, for some reason, he wants you alive." She left, shutting the door behind her.

Dylan stared after her. No one had ever spoken to him the way that woman just had. He didn't even know who she was. He slowly sank down onto the settee. He wished he'd taken up her offer of breakfast; his stomach felt sore and empty. Why was he here anyway? Nothing had happened, besides the usual anyway, and the police had never bothered him before.

Alex seemed to be the key to this whole thing. He was one step ahead. Somehow, he knew what was going on and he'd have to get it out of him at some point. He couldn't just keep him here; it was hardly fair.

He'd get out of here as soon as possible, find his mum and sue Alex for maltreatment. Yes, that was a good plan. His head had started to ache again and he slumped sideways again, slowly drifting into unconsciousness.

*

He hadn't been back to the bank for eight years, yet here he was making two trips in the space of forty-eight hours. This time however, he didn't stop at the reception desk. Smashing the door back against the wall, Alex stormed into Haynes' office, the receptionist clucking at his heels.

"But sir...you can't just go in...you have to make an appointment..." Alex ignored her.

Haynes had been sitting at his desk, but had jumped out of his seat upon Alex's arrival. He frowned.

"Rider." He nodded to the receptionist and she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

"What in God's name were you thinking, Rider?" Haynes asked.

"I could ask the same of you." Alex stared at Haynes, scrutinizing his face. He looked tired; he hadn't been sleeping. Something was worrying him. "Arresting a teenager for the murder of an experienced agent? Not exactly a fool-proof, plan was it? What sort of teenager would be able to take down an agent?"

Haynes looked up. "You." He said, his voice clear and unfaltering.

Alex frowned. "Your point?"

"That you could have taken down an agent when you were a teenager."

"That's not the – "

"That I knew exactly what I was thinking!" Haynes snapped. He stepped back, looking Alex up and down and smirked. "I most certainly do not have to justify my actions to you."

"Now look here – "

"You left the organisation eight years ago, Rider!" Haynes yelled, cutting off whatever Alex was going to say. "You made it perfectly clear you wanted nothing to do with us anymore and that was fine!" Haynes paused, a few splotches of spittle clinging onto his trembling lips. "But now you want to get involved! You're not the boss, Rider! You're not an agent! You're not Jones!"

Alex stared at the man in front of him, frowning.

"I know I am not Tulip Jones." He began, quietly. "I know I am not the Head of MI6. That is not the point. The point is that we have a man dead, shot through the head." Alex shook his head slowly. "You know who killed him Haynes. I know you do. Condemning Chambers isn't going to make all of this go away."

Haynes stared at Rider, breathing deeply.

"What..." He began, finally. "...do you propose?"

"That you tell me everything, starting from who tried to kill me that night at the bridge. Then, I help you."

Haynes frowned.

"I'm not sure that's –"

"That's my condition, Haynes and I'll know if you're lying. Fifty-eight years in the business, you know."

Haynes sighed and sat down behind his desk.

"Alright." He said, pouring himself a glass of gin from a crystal bottle on his desk. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but only if you help us."

Alex nodded.

"I'll do what I can."

Haynes studied him for a moment.

"Have you heard of a man named Alan Blunt?"

A/N – On my profile, I've started a poll, the object of which is to work out which stories to focus on finishing as I've got so many on the go at the moment. Any help on this issue would be great. I hope you liked this chapter. It's a bit short but there should be more to come soon. I would greatly appreciate any feedback. Thanks - Ashabagawa