Ch 5 Abduction
Mark McCormick picked up the list from the dining room table. It wasn't too long, but the tasks were disagreeable ones. He sighed, glancing toward the den, thinking about how much he wanted to relax on the sofa and watch TV.
Suddenly he shook his head and headed toward the back door. "Okay, you wanna see how much you can trust me, just wait!" he muttered angrily, then as he walked toward the tool shed he muttered again, "I must be crazy!"
Three hours later, sweating and exhausted, he stood up and stretched his back. The bush he had to remove was on the edge of the property. It was very overgrown and obviously needed to be pulled out. It was also very full of prickers, and despite the long sleeved shirt and gloves he'd put on for the job, he had several scratches on his arms and wrists. The sweat caused them to sting.
He looked up at the sky, enjoying the stretch and refusing to sit down. He knew if he did that he wouldn't want to get up again.
He stared at the spot where the bush had been and felt a little proud that he'd finished the job. Well, except for dragging away all the debris. The branches he'd had to cut in order to get at the center of the bush were strewn around the area. They would have to be dealt with, but the hot sun and the hard work had taken more out of him than he thought, so he headed toward the Gatehouse, ready for a long drink of water, and maybe he would sit down after all.
He headed in, enjoying the simple movement as he walked. He'd been in such a cramped position for so long while he attacked the center of the bush, that his muscles had stiffened up. After the debris was cleaned up, he planned to take a long, hot shower.
He pushed open the door of the Gatehouse and turned toward the blur that was moving toward his head. His arm shot up to block it as he lunged into the stranger. They fell together and Mark got in one good punch before two others grabbed him, one on each side, and pulled him off.
"Not bad Mr. Benchley," said a familiar voice from the center of the room, "or should I say Mr. McCormick?"
Mark struggled against Farnell's two musclemen briefly, before he realized there was no chance of breaking away.
"Farnell? How'd you get out so soon?"
Arthur Farnell smiled, "I have my ways."
"Sorry boss," came a weak voice from behind Mark, as the man he'd tackled stood up unsteadily. "I wasn't expecting him to do that."
"I told you about him Horace, you were supposed to expect anything."
"He's been workin in the sun for hours, Mr. Farnell, I just…"
"Go get the van Horace," Farnell interrupted.
"Yes sir," and the man hurried out the door to do as he was told.
"Agh," Mark groaned, as the two men holding him twisted his arms behind his back.
"You two won't let him get the better of you, will you?" Farnell asked.
Two grunts and more twisting were the only answers.
"Where's Hardcastle?" Farnell asked.
Mark's brain kicked into gear despite the pain in his arms and shoulders. Farnell wanted the judge and didn't know where he was. Well, he wasn't going to find out from him, Mark was sure of that.
"Cuff him!" Farnell spat out, and before he could think, Mark felt the cold metal around his wrists.
"I'm still waiting," Farnell said, a dead tone to his voice.
"You're the one who called me," Mark stated with certainty.
"Where's Hardcastle!" he nodded his head toward one of his goons, who punched Mark in the gut with such force that he doubled over.
"I don't know," Mark whispered, not trying to stand up again.
"Well, let's go into the main house and see what kind of mischief we can cause then."