Six Years Ago...
As you drive through empty, narrow, winding country roads in the dead of night, you find yourself whistling along to that Motown song that was playing in the club a week ago when you caught Ste and Brendan in the act.
Soppy, schmaltzy shit.
There is a small voice in your head that tells you that maybe you are going too far with teaching Brendan a lesson.
The young lad is not to blame.
Let Rat-boy go.
Get back at that Irish prick directly if you must.
Maybe this isn't Brendan's doing, anyway. He made a pretty convincing show of seeming innocent in the whole money stealing fiasco.
But you persevere. You can be single-minded like that. Besides, you only plan to scare Ste a little bit, nothing to cause permanent scars. This... intervention has long term benefits for you. It will place you firmly in the winner's seat. King of the Jungle. Head of State. A man not to mess with. Ever. Some people, like Brendan, need to learn that the hard way. And what better way to hurt your archenemy than to threaten the one he loves.
Yeah.
Loves.
You saw it with your own two eyes and it goes both ways. Tache-man loves Rat-boy and vice versa.
Your jeep approaches the secluded abandoned barn that has been begging to be used for some time. There hasn't been any sign of human life for the past few miles so you are reassured that you won't get caught in a hurry. This is a corner of the Chester country-side that civilisation forgot.
You make a quick phone call.
"John. The parcel is about to be delivered. I need you to check in on it a couple of times a day starting tomorrow until further notice. Make sure it is watered and fed. Don't hurt it. Talk to you later."
You've worked with John before. He is a beast of a man but has a sensible head. Plus he owes you big time so what better way to repay a favour than to babysit for you. After all you can't make this trip out every day. People will notice.
You have told John what the deal is. Take care of the parcel. Don't harm the parcel. If the parcel acts out of line do only the necessary to get it back in line. No more and definitely nothing that will cause lasting damage. Once money comes through the parcel will be returned.
Simple.
You turn the headlights off and get out of the car. Gloves and Balaclava go back on.
You pop open the boot and look into it.
Rat-boy is surprisingly still as he lies on his side with his feet strapped together and his hands tied behind his back. A black cloth is stuffed in his mouth gagging him. Two others are wrapped around his head; one keeps the cloth in his mouth in place while the other blindfolds him. Christ, he looks like a child like that, curled up in a foetal position. You almost feel bad. Why isn't he moving?
You nudge him firmly and he groans. Thank fuck! He is no use to you dead. There is no leverage then.
He has developed a few scrapes and cuts from being knocked about during the journey. The corner of his mouth is salivating around the gag and he is trembling uncontrollably. Other than that he seems fine.
You immediately go for his pockets, remove his phone, turn it to silent and tuck it into your pocket then you pull him out of the trunk and throw him onto the ground. You reach to help him up onto his feet. That is when he begins to resist you. He jerks and twists, trying to blindly avoid your grip while his distressed muffled sounds filter through his gag.
You can see tears fall under his blindfold and his nose runs.
You feel like telling him to calm the fuck down but he would identify your voice in a heartbeat. He is going to harm himself if he is not careful, thrashing out like that. If he co-operates this stay in the barn should be only a little less pleasant than that youth hostel you stayed at in Prague all those years ago. And if his boyfriend pulls his finger out and pays up, Ste should be home in no time.
You take out your gun. You don't plan to use it but it is amazing how compliant people become when they feel the cold heavy metal pointing at them.
Ste is no exception. You place the barrel of the gun on his face and grin when he immediately goes stock still apart from short sharp scared breaths that flare his nostrils. He recognises it as a firearm.
Good. That's more like it.
You move it over his cheek like a tender caress before pushing it sharply into his neck. You release its lock. His body visibly flinches and you hold back a laugh. You put the safety back on. You don't want an accident to happen.
He stays still as you carefully take off the rope around his legs and help him stand up. You use the end of the gun to silently direct him to the barn.
There is only one entry point into it; a heavy wooden double door with a large padlock on it which locks from the outside. You open it and lead him in.
It is ready for you. The set up is basic enough. Lots and lots of hay in a corner for Mr. Hay to sleep on. It practically occupies one side of the barn right up to its high ceiling. There is also a bucket for when natural calls, a chair, five big flasks of drinking water and tins of baked beans.
It could be worse.
You toss him into the chair and tie his hands to it before taking the gag out but keep his blindfold on.
He opens and closes his mouth a few times but is wise enough not to scream. He remembers the gun.
Good kid.
You should go so you turn to leave.
"Why are you doing this?" Weasel face whispers with a shaky voice. "Who are you?"
You stop midstride and turn to face him. He looks around himself blindly.
"Please!" He says quietly then sniffs back tears. "Let me go!"
He pulls at his restraints.
"I think you've got the wrong person. I've done nothing wrong." He becomes frantic. If he keeps tugging at his wrists the way he is doing he is going to make them bleed. "I have children. Please."
"I promise I'll give you what I can." His head flops forward as if defeated. "I have savings. Not much... I-"
You begin to approach him again while he continues his negotiations.
"I won't tell anyone this happened if you just let me go now. Please."
You stand right in front of him. You aim the gun at a space just to the left of his chair and fire a shot. It startles him into silence. In fact, he whimpers and you see the seat of his black Chez Chez uniform pants darken.
The lad has gone and pissed himself.
Great. What a wuss.
You lean in close to his ear and place your index finger on your mouth then sound,
"Shhh."
You drag it out as you walk away from him again and out of the barn. You lock it and head to your car.
For some reason that Motown song comes back to mind and you whistle it as you drive home.
XOXO
The next day you feel a spring in your step as you take the stairs up to the first floor of the club two at a time.
You receive a message and check your phone.
09.57. Saturday.
Morning. Found parcel on the floor but still strapped to chair. It must have tried to escape and toppled over. Pissed itself. Think I might let it air dry. I'm no maid. It is watered but refuses to eat. Feisty little creature. Keep you posted. John.
"Morning, Foxy." You look up to see Brendan nursing a mug of tea and reading the morning paper while sitting on a sofa; the sofa that you saw him nailing Ste on over a week ago.
You smile. Plan A is in operation.
"Morning."
"That message seems to have got you in a good mood." He observes.
"You could say that." You say and put your phone away.
"You get laid, big man?" He asks in amusement. "Some girl thought, 'fuck it, I'm pished, he'll do.'"
"That's no way to speak about your mother." You reply smugly.
He points a finger at you. "Funny."
He goes back to his newspaper so you head to the office.
"By the way, big man, you sorted out your money problems yet?" He asks. "Found out the real person to harass?"
You stare at him and try to keep your voice even, while your blood boils inside. "Yeah. He doesn't know what's coming."
Brendan lifts his hand up and mocks fear. "Sounds like you're really going to make him pay."
"Yeah." You say briefly and then close the door to the office behind you.
Let the song and dance begin.
By lunchtime Pete arrives ready to watch the football game with Brendan. They don't invite you to partake.
They watch it on the widescreen television downstairs while knocking back pints, eating sandwiches and ribbing each other.
You watch them from a distance and muse over how they are best friends after what Brendan did to him. That car accident with tache-man driving resulted in his childhood friend becoming wheelchair dependent at the tender age of twenty. There must be magnetism to Brendan that draws people to him against their better judgement.
Brendan keeps checking his phone while watching the game. You sense his mood turn from light-hearted to heavy.
"Mate, if you check it one more time, I'm tossing it in the bin." Pete says.
"Look. I've got my eyeballs plastered to the screen, mate. Don't worry about it." Brendan drawls.
Pete grins and mocks jokingly, "Is the ball and chain not replying back to your texts? You are so under the thumb, Bren. Never thought I'd see the day."
You are a little surprised that Pete is obviously aware of the depth of the relationship between Ste and Brendan. It is more of an open secret than you had appreciated. Brendan seems to have come a long way from the closeted gay homophobe you knew.
Bren frowns while punching keys on his phone. "Says the man who went shopping for linen for a whole day with the missus last week instead of playing cards with the lads."
Pete laughs. "Hey, I don't deny that Amy has my balls in a jar but it's worth it. The woman's incredible. You, on the other hand, act like you aren't completely whipped with Ste when it's obvious you are."
Brendan takes a big gulp of his beer and then shrugs. "He always replies straight away. This is not normal."
"He probably doesn't want to disturb you while you are watching the game."
You reach into your jacket's inner pocket and retrieve Ste's phone. There are five new messages and one missed call.
Shit. You should be more on the ball than this. Brendan is already suspicious of his lover's silence. You check them in turn.
The first one is brief-
08.31 am. From: Brendan
Morning.
x BB
The second one-
08.40 am. From: Brendan
My erection is missing you already. I've told it to calm the fuck down!
x BB
The third one-
10.30 am. From: Brendan
I figure you're okay. Just let me know you are for sure.
BB
The fourth one-
11.15 am. From: Amy
Hey. Hope you are enjoying some me time. The kids are having a great time with dad at the park. I had a lie in! Happy days! See you on Monday.
Luv ya,
Ames
The fifth one-
13.55 pm. From: Brendan
Fuck's sake, Ste! This isn't funny. Give me a call as soon as you get this message.
BB
Brendan must have just sent that last message. You listen to the voice call.
"Message left at 11.37 am... Stephen, I should be done with Pete and the game at around three o'clock. I know I said that we wouldn't be able to meet this weekend but, uh, I thought that I could come over later today. Call me when you get this."
You can hear the edge of concern as an undercurrent to his voice. You don't understand it. Stephen doesn't even qualify as missing yet.
You look over at Brendan and Pete as they watch the football game; shouting at the referees and players, slapping their thighs at missed penalties, hugging each other when goals are scored and groaning at blatant dives from the opposing team.
You type into Stephen's phone.
14.25 pm. To: Brendan
Hi Brendan. I'm fine. Honest. See you Monday.
Stephen
You read it back. No. The tone is wrong. You delete and re-write.
14.27 pm. To: Brendan
Hiya. Sorry, Bren. My phone must have been on silent. I'm fine so don't worry. I'll see you on Monday.
xxx S
You press 'send' and a few seconds later Brendan's phone buzzes. He looks down at it.
"That your fella?" Pete asks without peeling his eyes off the telly.
Bren grunts.
"See, told you. He is probably just kicking back and enjoying some time without the kids."
"He sounds strange." Brendan says as he reads, punches a key on his phone and puts it to his ear.
"How can you tell? It's a message." Pete reasons.
"I'm calling him." Brendan says.
You look down at Stephen's phone and it blinks at you silently.
Fuck.
Brendan Calling...
You let it ring as you look at Brendan.
It goes to voicemail but Brendan doesn't leave a message. He looks at Pete.
"He isn't picking up."
"Give the guy a break, Bren."
"He just left me the message. Why wouldn't he pick up?"
Pete shrugs.
"I'm going to go over to his after this and just make sure he is okay."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
You think fast. The plan has got to change. You need to move on to plan B.
You tip toe up the stairs and go to the club's office. You go the staff files and find Stephen's address. You then run out of the club using the fire exit and head towards his place.
XOXO
You turn the sound on Rat-boy's phone up as you approach his home. You assume that Brendan might try to ring him again and you want to hear the phone go when he does.
Breaking into Ste's council house is painfully easy. You leave his phone on the sofa in the living room and take a little tour of his home. It screams breadline. Old furniture. Old telly. Old clothes. Old kid's toys. But it is clean and there is a sense of house pride within the limits of the household's budget.
Ste's barman wages and Amy's teacher's assistant salary clearly do not afford comfortable living.
You walk into a room that you figure must be his. You raise an eyebrow when you look into his wardrobe. There are a few items of clothing in there that you recognise as Brendan's. A pair of his shoes is also there. On his bedside table are a group of three framed photos. One is a studio picture one of him, Amy and the two children. One is of him with his son Lucas on his back. That kid is a spitting image of his father. The last picture shouldn't be unexpected but it is. You pick it up and study it closely.
It is a photo of Brendan and Ste. It was clearly taken impromptu and you recognise the setting as the house's living room. Ste is straddling tache-man with his hands wrapped around his shoulders. Brendan looks shocked like Ste pounced on him a second before the photo and Ste looks unbelievably happy. You would put your money on Amy having taken the picture.
Stephen's phone rings in the living room. At the same time you hear keys in the front door before it opens. So Brendan has house keys. Go figure.
You grin. Plan B is in operation.
"Stephen?" You hear Brendan say as he walks in.
You creep out of Ste's room and quietly approach the living room. You watch as Brendan picks up Weasel face's ringing phone uncomprehendingly.
"What the fuck?" He whispers then with a sharp edge of concern, and raised voice, "Stephen!"
He looks around anxiously and sees you standing there.
"Hello, Brendan." You say with a wide grin.
"Warren?" He frowns and looks at the two phones in his hand then back at you. "Where's Stephen?"
"Not here that's for sure."
He pushes past you and makes quick work of checking all the rooms of the house with the efficiency of someone who clearly knows the property well.
"I said he's not here, Brendan."
He strides up to you, grabs you by the scruff of your neck and pushes you forcefully into a wall.
Brendan is strong; much stronger than he looks and he doesn't look like a pushover. A dash of fear rises up in you. You know that this man can kill. You have seen it firsthand. And the last man to meet his maker at the hands of this Irishman also tried to use Weasel face as collateral.
"What have you done with him?" He hisses, spit hitting your face.
"Nothing." You squeeze out through your partly compressed windpipe. "He is fine. And he'll remain that way if you play nice."
He looks at you in confusion then pushes off you. He jabs his finger in your direction while pacing,
"You better start talking, Foxy, before my patience wears thin."
You rub your neck and take a step away from him. "I don't think you are in a position to make demands. Stephen is my insurance policy."
He frowns.
"I want my £50,000 within the next 48 hours, Brendan. I get my money. You get your Stephen."
Brendan shouts, "I don't have your fucking money!"
"I don't care." It's true. At this point you just want to show him who's boss.
"What makes you think I won't just go to the police?" He threatens.
I smile. "So many reasons. Number one. He has only been gone a few hours. They wouldn't do anything. Number two. I know you killed Danny. I am sure the police would love to close that particular murder case and I might feel tempted to help them with some new evidence if you feel tempted to pay them a visit. Number three. You can tell them what you like. You have no evidence to back up your claims that I have done anything. Number four. You do anything funny and I'll pick a bone to break in Stephen's body. A big one."
He clenches his fists and looks down. You have backed him into a corner and he is looking for a way out.
When he looks at you, you are surprised by the emotion in his eyes.
"Please let him go." He says. "We can work something out. You and me. Leave Stephen out of it."
You tut at him. "If you do as you are told and show me the money within 48 hours, the next two days will be like a holiday for your boyfriend. Just be a good man and show me the money, Brendan."
"I don't want you to lay a finger on him. If he has so much as a scratch on him-"
"Any scratches, cuts, fractures-"
He winces.
"-Bruises, burns that Rat-boy receives will be a direct result of you fucking up. Do what you need to do and he will come back to you unharmed."
You walk up to him feeling the power surging through you. You pat his shoulder lightly.
"Understood?"
He glares at you and you see a redness and wetness to his eyes that you didn't appreciate a moment ago.
He nods slightly.
"Nice one, mate." You say.
With that you walk out of the house.